3E 


AI  E 


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QEWITT&SNELUH6 
BOOKSELLERS 


[Page  13 

"ONE   NIGHT,  IN   A  HIGH   GALE,  SUSAN  WAS  DRAGGING   HIM  BESIDE 

HER  " 


SUSAN'S     ESCORT 


AND    OTHERS 


BY 


EDWARD  EVERETT   HALE 

AUTHOR   OF 
A    MAN    WITHOUT.    A    COUNTRY"     "  IN    HIS    NAME" 

"LIFE  IN  SYBARIS"  "TEN  TIMES  ONE  "  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 
BY   W.  T.  SMEDLEY 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

1897 


Copyright,  1897,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rigtils  reterved. 


OF  the  stories  in  the  present  volume  "Susan's  Escort,"  "Aunt 
Caroline's  Present,"  "  Both  Their  Houses,"  "  Colonel  Ingham's  Jour 
ney,"  and  "A  New  Arabian  Night"  have  appeared  in  HARPER'S 
MAGAZINE;  "One  Good  Turn,"  "The  Minister's  Black  Veil,"  and 
"Bread  on  the  Waters,"  in  the  New  York  Independent;  "From 
Generation  to  Generation,"  in  the  New  England  Magazine;  "Only 
a  Fly,"  in  the  Chautauquan ;  "Mrs.  De  Laix's  Indecision,"  in  Once 
a  Week;  "From  Making  to  Baking,"  "The  First  Grain  Market," 
and  "Pharaoh's  Harvest,"  in  the  Northwestern  Miller.  "King 
Charles's  Shilling"  and  "Colonel  Clipsham's  Calendar"  were  issued 
by  the  McClurc  syndicate. 


34C39G 


A   PKEFACE 


THIS  is  a  volume  of  what  are  technically  called 
"  short  stories."  Alas,  such  stories  may  seem  too  long 
to  some  readers !  And  yet  the  author  of  such  stories 
always  hopes  that  the  reader  may  wish  they  were  a 
little  longer. 

It  is  difficult  to  find  a  fit  title  for  such  a  collection. 
It  had  been  determined  in  council  that  this  book 
should  be  called  "Short  Stories,  Old  and  New."  In 
this  title  was  a  subtle  reference  to  the  magazine  Old 
and  New,  which  is  still  remembered  by  its  editor. 
Alas,  in  the  evening  paper  published  the  day  of  this 
great  decision  was  announced  another  collection  as 
very  meritorious,  called,  "  Short  Stories,  New  and 
Clef." 

Those  of  us  who  do  not  dislike  the  short  story, 
and  are  willing,  in  writing,  to  accept  its  somewhat 
stern  requisitions,  look  back,  of  course,  with  serious 
pride,  to  the  methods  and  the  names  used  by  our  great 
American  master,  Hawthorne.  It  pleased  him  to  call 
his  first  collection  "Twice -Told  Tales."  Would  it  be 
possible,  with  a  proper  modesty,  to  name  this  collection 
in  a  like  fashion?  "Tell  it  again,"  the  children  say, 
when  they  are  pleased.  Such  is  the  highest  of  compli- 


vi  A    PREFACE 

ments,  whether  to  Scheherezade,  our  great  mistress,  or 
to  our  dear  Stevenson.  Might  we  say,  without  vani 
ty,  "  Thrice-Told  Tales,"  or  would  the  transcendental 
mathematicians  permit  us  to  say  "Tales  of  a  Quater 
nion  ( " 

No,  you  cannot  do  that.  For  in  this  volume  are 
some  tales  which  have  already  been  printed  more  than 
two  million  times.  The  reader  will  find  others  which 
he  has  never  seen.  Some  of  them  are  old,  as  has  been 
intimated — older  than  the  average  reader.  Some  of 
them  are  fresh,  with  the  vigorous  flush  of  youth,  and 
stumble  as  they  make  their  modest  bows  and  courtesies. 
So  far  was  that  name  justified,  "  Stories,  Old  and  Xew." 
But  every  person  in  the  Trade  sees  that  you  cannot 
have  a  title-page  so  varied  as  one  which  should  say, 
"Tales,  some  of  which  have  been  told  two  million 
times,  while  others  have  not  been  told  at  all."  The 
meanest  errand-boy  would  refuse  to  carry  such  a  title 
from  the  retail  shop  to  the  jobber. 

The  descriptive  title  is  difficult  and  dangerous. 
When  I  first  submitted  a  collection  like  this  to  the 
public.  I  called  it  "If,  Yes,  and  Perhaps."  "If"  was 
for  the  possible  stories,  "Yes"  was  for  the  true  stories, 
"Perhaps"  was  for  the  probable  stories.  These  might 
have  been,  but  one  did  not  know;  "perhaps"  was  the 
best  you  could  say  of  them.  This  volume  might  claim 
a  similar  character.  Some  of  these  stories  are  true, 
some  of  them  are  only  possible,  some  of  them,  let  us 
hope,  are  probable.  The  public,  however,  could  make 
nothing  of  the  title,  "If,  Yes,  and  Perhaps"  ;  so  that, 
after  struggling  through  five  or  six  editions,  we  were 
obliged  to  do  what  we  have  done  here— to  give  to  the 


A    PREFACE  vil 

volume  the  name  of  the  first  story  in  the  collection. 
And  thus  we  let  our  clear  Susan  and  her  Escort  usher 
in  tho  others. 

There  are  critics,  generally  of  the  ecclesiastical  type, 
who  disapprove  of  probable  stories.  They  consider 
the  success  of  a  story-teller  to  be  gained  when  no  one 
can  imagine  that  his  story  is  true.  I  had  the  honor, 
myself,  to  be  called  "a  forger  and  a  counterfeiter"  by 
the  editor  of  one  of  the  journals  called  religious — I  do 
not  know  why.  He  had  mistaken  one  of  my  stories 
for  a  narrative  of  an  event  in  history.  He  thought, 
and  I  suppose  still  thinks,  that  a  parable  should  have 
no  resemblance  to  real  life.  But  the  masters  in  litera 
ture  are  against  him.  Indeed,  we  have  the  highest 
authority  for  saying  that  instruction  by  parable  is  that 
form  of  instruction  which  best  reaches  the  masses  of 
mankind,  and  which  is  remembered  the  longest.  The 
critics  of  a  hundred  years  ago  spoke  of  "  Invented 
Example."  No  one  of  them  proposed  that  the  example 
thus  invented  should  appear  to  the  reader  incredible. 
The  only  value  of  "  invented  examples  "  was  that  they 
should,  in  substance  and  foundation,  conform  to  life. 

For  four  thousand  years,  be  the  same  more  or  less, 
short  stories  have  been  in  the  world.  It  may  be 
guessed,  then,  that  they  have  come  to  stay.  I  find 
none  better  than  those  of  the  Indian  sage,  Bidpai,  and 
I  do  not  know  when  he  wrote  them,  nor  does  any  one 
else.  But  Mr.  Kipling's  are  as  good,  when  he  describes 
the  loves  and  the  hates  of  the  descendants  of  Bidpai's 
heroes.  If  one  may  judge  who  has  read  thousands 
with  delight,  and  has  with  equal  delight  written  his 


vili  A    PREFACE 

share,  the  days  of  the  short  story  will  not  be  ended 
while  we  have  Miss  Jewett  and  Mrs.  Slosson  and  Mr. 
Wister  and  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Barrie  and  Mr.  Kipling 
to  write  them. 

EDWAKD  E.  HALE. 
ROXBURY,  April  8,  1897. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

SUSAN'S  ESCORT 1 

ONE  GOOD  TURN 26 

THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL 42 

AUNT  CAROLINE'S  PRESENT 59 

COLONEL  CLIPSHAM'S  CALENDAR 76 

BREAD  ON  THE  WATERS 100 

GENERAL  GLOVER'S  TRUE  STORY 162 

BOTH  THEIR  HOUSES 177 

COLONEL  INGHAM'S  JOURNEY 210 

A  NEW  ARABIAN  NIGHT 230 

ONLY  A  FLY 249 

JOHN  RICH  AND  LUCY  POOR 279 

FROM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION 307 

MRS.  DE  LAIX'S  INDECISION 328 

KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING 340 

FROM  MAKING  TO  BAKING 363 

THE  FIRST  GRAIN  MARKET 383 

PHARAOH'S  HARVEST .   392 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


ONE   NIGHT,  IN    A   HIGH    GALE,  SUSAN  WAS   DRAGGING 

HIM    BESIDE    HER  " Frontispiece 

HE    SAT,  WITH    HIS    CHIN    ON    HIS    HANDS".       .       .       Facing  p.    14 
'MAC,'    SAID     SHE,    'l    SHALL     NOT     WANT     YOU     ANY 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 


SUSAN'S   ESCOET 


SUSAN  ELLSWORTH  is  as  nice  a  girl  as  I  know.  I  wish 
that  you  and  I,  dear  readers,  knew-  more  such.  She 
lived  just  out  from  Boston  ;  not  at  Jamaica  Plain,  but 
at  one  of  the  most  convenient  stations  on  that  admi 
rable  Providence  Railroad — my  road,  so  far  as  a  per 
son  may  be  said  to  own  it  who  by  many  punch-tickets 
builds  up  the  fortunes  of  the  stockholders.  Susan 
Ellsworth  was  and  is  a  school-mi  stress  in  one  of  the 
public  schools  of  Boston.  Like  most  such  ladies,  she 
had  a  fancy  for  living  at  a  great  distance  from  her 
school,  and  went  and  came  by  rapid  or  slow  transit  as 
the  gods  and  Mr.  Whitney  might  provide.  This  was 
in  the  daytime,  and  was  easy. 

But  Susan  had  more  difficulty  in  the  evenings.  Her 
brothers  lived,  one  in  Alaska,  one  in  Yokohama,  and 
a  third  was  studying  medicine  in  Vienna.  She  was 
engaged  then  to  a  man  far  away,  and  is  now,  if,  in 
deed,  she  be  not  married  before  this  story  goes  to 
press.  Still,  she  had  what  I  may  call  a  passion  for 
evening  concerts  and  lectures— nay,  let  me  whisper  it, 


2  SU8A14  S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

for  a  rollicking,  laughing  burlesque,  if  the  Vokeses  or 
some  other  nice  people  came  along,  and,  most  of  all, 
for  the  opera  when  it  was  really  good.  Now,  all  these 
brothers  were  earning  their  own  board  bills,  so  that 
Susan  Ellsworth  was  not  fleeced  by  them,  as  most 
good  school-mistresses  known  to  me  are  by  their  broth 
ers.  And  as  her  salary  was  good,  she  could  indulge 
her  passion  for  these  evening  entertainments,  for  she 
was  still  young. 

She  tried  at  first  bold  independence.  Boston,  she 
said,  was  a  civilized  city.  The  streets  were  light,  and, 
after  electricity  came  in  they  were  very  light  even  at 
night.  So  she  pretended  to  be  bold  when  she  was 
frightened.  She  went  into  the  station  at  Park  Square 
by  rail.  She  took  street- car  or  sidewalk  to  the  Insti 
tute,  the  Opera-house,  to  Mr.  Kale's  reading,  to  the 
Old  South  lectures,  to  the  Museum,  or  wherever  she 
went.  When  the  entertainment  was  over  she  crowded 
into  a  car,  or  put  herself  in  the  wake  of  some  large 
walking  party  going  her  way.  And  so  she  pretended 
to  herself  and  to  fellow -graduates  from  Vassar,  to 
whom  she  wrote  descriptions  of  her  independent  Bos 
ton  life,  that  she  was  not  afraid. 

All  the  same  she  was  afraid,  and  knew  she  was; 
and  she  was  always  well  pleased  when,  just  in  time 
for  the  theatre  train  out  to  Keadville,  she  found  her 
self  safe  in  that  hospitable  station. 

And  one  night  her  fears  were  justified.  She  had 
gone  to  a  natural-history  lecture.  It  was  really  the 
best  thing  in  Boston  that  winter,  the  most  exciting, 
the  newest,  and  the  most  entertaining.  So  dear  Bos 
ton  had  let  it  wisely  alone,  and  there  were  not  a  hun- 


dred  people  in  the  hall.  No  one,  as  fate  ordered,  went 
Susan's  way,  and  so  it  happened  that  a  drunken  dog 
on  two  legs  staggered  up  to  her,  and  asked  if  he  should 
not  see  her  home.  Susan  was  horribly  frightened. 
She  said  nothing,  but  almost  ran.  Fortunately  that 
friendly  policeman,  the  old  man  who  patrols  that  sec 
tion,  came  round  the  corner.  She  gasped  rather  than 
spoke.  He  saw  the  trouble,  gave  the  drunken  dog  a 
bit  of  his  mind,  and  walked  with  Susan  to  the  station. 
But  she  had  learned  her  lesson  very  thoroughly.  She 
dared  not  try  mock  courage  again,  nor  purchase  her 
independence  so  dearly.  For  a  fortnight,  almost  a 
month,  she  was  horribly  dependent. 

"  Dear  Sarah,  if  you  are  going  to  the  opera  to-night, 
may  I  join  your  party  ?  I  have  a  ticket,  but,"  etc. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Primrose,  are  you  going  to  hear  the 
bishop  ?  May  I,"  etc.,  etc. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Armitage,  would  it  trouble  you  and  Mr. 
Armitage,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

And  generally  it  proved  that  Mr.  Primrose  was  not 
going,  or  that  Sarah  was  to  stay  in  town,  or  that  it 
would  trouble  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Armitage.  Sometimes 
poor  Susan  bought  two  tickets  to  the  opera  and  treat 
ed  some  cub  of  a  pupil.  But  this  was  intolerable  in 
the  long-run.  She  really  thought  she  should  have  to 
abjure  the  world,  have  her  beautiful  hair  all  cut  off, 
give  up  all  the  modest  amusements  and  vanities  of  her 
life,  and  enter  a  convent. 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 


II 


But  necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention.  One  day 
when  Susan  was  at  Hollander's  to  be  measured  for  a 
new  walking-dress  she  saw  whence  her  safety  might 
come.  For  she  actually  stepped  back  a  moment  for  a 
lady  to  pass  her,  and  then  it  proved  that  the  ladv  was 
no  flesh-and-blood  lady,  but  only  the  frame  of  a  lady, 
with  her  frock  stretched  over  her  neatly,  and  a  bonnet 
where  the  head  is  usually.  Susan  recovered  herself 
from  her  little  blunder,  passed  her  hand  within  the 
gack,  and  lifted  the  pretty  creature  from  the  ground. 
She  found  that  she  was  by  no  means  heavy. 

You  see,  of  course,  what  she  determined  on.  In  two 
days  she  had  made  for  herself  an  Escort.  She  bought 
a  cheap  and  light  gossamer  overcoat,  a  travelling-cap, 
a  dozen  toy  masks,  and  at  a  second-hand  clothing  store 
a  pair  of  badly  worn  check  pantaloons.  She  also 
bought  rattan  enough,  and  the  wire  of  hoop-skirts,  for 
her  purpose.  She  sewed  to  the  bottom  of  the  panta 
loons  two  right-foot  arctics,  which  Hugh  had  left  when 
he  went  to  Vienna,  because  they  matched  only  too 
well.  From  the  rattan,  with  an  old  umbrella  slide,  she 
made  a  backbone  and  two  available  legs  to  support  the 
mackintosh,  and  on  the  top  of  the  backbone  she  could 
adjust  either  of  the  masks  which  she  preferred  with 
the  travelling-cap.  The  whole  thing  would  shut  to 
gether  like  a  travelling -easel.  The  mask  would  go 
into  her  leather  bag,  which,  like  others  of  her  sex,  she 
carried  everywhere.  The  rest  could  then  be  slid  into 
a  long  umbrella -case,  rather  large  for  a  patent  um- 


brella,  but  not  so  large  as  to  challenge  attention.  Susan 
finished  her  little  manikin  early  in  the  afternoon.  The 
hours  crawled,  they  stood  still,  till  evening  came,  when 
she  was  first  to  put  him  to  his  trial.  He  was  to  go  to 
Lohengrin  with  her,  and  she  had  bought  only  one 
ticket  for  both. 

Fortunately  it  rained  like  fury.  It  did  not  seem 
curious  that  one  should  carry  two  umbrellas.  She 
might  be  returning  one;  for  virtuous  and  true  people, 
like  Susan,  do  return  umbrellas  sometimes.  Arrived 
in  Boston,  Susan  went  outdoors  to  that  sheltered  lee 
where  you  wait  for  Cambridge  street-cars.  In  an  in 
stant  she  had  opened  up  her  new  friend  to  his  own 
proportions,  and  in  a  moment  more,  by  an  act  not  dis 
similar,  she  opened  her  own  umbrella.  A  moment 
more,  and  she  slid  her  arm  under  the  cape  she  had 
sewed  on  his  mackintosh,  and  they  crossed  Park  Square 
together. 

He  was  a  little  man,  he  stooped  in  walking,  and  was 
ungraceful  in  movement.  But  most  men  are  this  and 
do  thus,  as  Susan  said  bravely  and  truly  to  herself.  He 
was  not  so  tall  as  she  ;  neither  were  any  of  the  school 
boy  cubs  on  whom  she  had  been  depending.  He  had 
nothing  to  say ;  neither  had  they.  .  Better  than  this, 
he  said  nothing ;  alas,  most  of  them  were  not  so  wise ! 
He  could  be  squeezed  into  a  very  small  corner  if  they 
were  waiting  for  a  crowd,  or  at  a  crossing;  but  they 
stepped  out  and  tried  to  perform  deeds  of  gallantry. 
So  that,  as  she  walked  with  him,  delighted  to  see  how 
people  turned  out  for  them,  Susan,  as  she  balanced  his 
advantages  and  his  disadvantages,  said  that  the  good 
far  surpassed  the  evil,  as  Kobirison  Crusoe  did  on  a 


6  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

similar  emergency,  and  as  the  reader  will,  if  he  will 
fairly  compare  the  plus  and  the  minus  of  this  well- 
governed  world.  Both  parties  sped  down  Boylston 
Street  safely,  and  arrived  without  any  adventure  be 
fore  the  Boston  Theatre.  There  Susan  walked  into 
the  alley  by  the  side  with  him,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
carefully  attended  ballet-girl  a  little  late.  In  a  second 
more  his  face  was  in  her  bag  and  his  bones  in  her  lio-ht 

o  o 

umbrella -case,  and  Susan  —  alone  as  it  seemed,  but 
really  never  less  alone — was  on  her  way  up  to  the  fam 
ily-circle,  where  her  two  umbrellas  took  place  beside 
her,  in  time  for  her  to  see  daybreak  in  the  opera. 


Ill 

Prosperous  and  happy  girl,  Susan  followed  her  new 
career  with  success  and  cheerfulness  such  as  she  had 
never  looked  forward  to.  There  was  in  her  life  none 
of  the  embarrassment  which  the  other  girls  felt,  who 
did  not  know  whether  they  should  or  should  not  insist 
on  paying  their  own  car  fares  when  their  attendants 
offered  to  pay.  Her  escort  never  proposed  that  they 
should  stop  on  their  way  to  the  train  to  eat  an  ice,  and 
never  terrified  her  by  waiting  so  long  in  the  ice-cream 
saloon  that  she  thought  they  had  both  missed  the  train. 
Her  escort  never  annoyed  her  by  depreciating  Wagner, 
or  by  overpraising  that  sweet  air  in  Trovatore.  On 
the  other  hand,  she  saw7  in  a  week  that  the  other  girls 
regarded  her  with  a  certain  sort  of  respect,  not  to  say 
admiration  and  awe,  which  she  had  never  been  con 
scious  of  before.  To  be  met  in  the  street,  now  with  a 


dark  Italian,  now  with  a  foolish-looking  Irishman,  now 
with  a  German  who  scowled  and  knew  everything,  now 
with  a  light-hearted  Yankee  who  seemed  a  Harvard 
Junior  or  Sophomore — this  affected  Susan's  reputation 
among  her  young  friends  of  her  own  sex.  They  were 
not  surprised.  No ;  they  knew  she  was  well  worthy 
of  any  amount  of  admiration.  Not  surprised  —  no. 
only — well — yes,  it  was  different  from  what  it  was 
the  year  before,  when  Susan  had  been  poking  about 
as  if  she  were  nobody  and  nobody  cared  for  her. 

It  would  be  wrong  to  say  that  Susan  cared  for  re 
spect  or  admiration  so  cheaply  bought.  But  if  you  had 
asked  her,  she  would  have  owned  that  she  was  glad  that 
she  was  no  longer  the  subject  of  commiseration  among 
her  young  friends.  In  truth,  she  took  a  higher  grade 
than  a  girl  engaged  to  only  one  person,  and  hers  is  a 
grade  much  higher  than  the  girl  who  has  six  brothers. 

Yet  I  really  think  it  was  a  mistake  that  one  evening 
when  Susan,  having  a  pocketful  of  complimentary 
tickets  for  the  recital,  took  Mr.  Mackintosh  into  Chick- 
ering  Hall  with  her,  and  let  him  sit  by  her  side  to  lis 
ten,  instead  of  leaving  him  with  her  umbrella  in  the 
anteroom.  But  the  recital  was  really  first-rate,  so  the 
audience  was  very  small.  Susan  was  very  much  inter 
ested  in  the  success  of  the  young  lady  who  was  giving 
her  first  concert,  and  she  thought  that  every  seat  that 
was  filled  was  an  advantage  to  her.  But  you  see,  of 
course,  that  it  made  other  people  talk.  Here  was  this 
handsome  young  man  sitting  by  Susan,  and  for  a  week 
her  fair  friends  were  asking  who  he  was,  and  how  she 
came  to  know  him.  But  she  did  not  at  first  appreciate 
this,  so  she  made  the  mistake  more  than  once,  and  I 


SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 


think  he  heard  more  good  music  than  was  good  for 
him. 

But  as  for  her,  in  "  these  halcyon  days  of  his  first 
success,"  she  enjoyed  her  winter  as  she  had  never  en 
joyed  a  winter  before.  If  you  choose,  in  Boston,  there 
is  nothing  you  may  not  see  and  hear  and  know  and 
understand  in  the  heavens  above,  or  the  earth  beneath, 
or  the^waters  that  are  supposed  to  be  under  the  earth. 
Susan  found  her  time  full,  her  hands  full,  her  heart 
full,  and  her  brain  very  much  more  than  full.  When 
she  was  not  in  school  she  was  writing  up  her  notes  or 
reading,  that  she  might  be  in  a  measure  prepared  for 
Mr.  Barton,  or  Mr.  Goodale,  or  Mr.  Shaler,  or  Mr. 
Wright,  or  the  rest  of  the  savants.  She  knew  the  dif 
ference  between  a  kame  and  a  drumlin  ;  she  knew  the 
difference  between  a  moth  and  a  behemoth,  and  how 
the  trunk  of  one  was  related  to  the  trunk  of  the  other. 
She  knew  that  she  was  herself  an  ascidian,  and  she 
was  as  eager  as  any  one  to  work  out  the  links  which 
connected  her  with  her  grandfather's  great-grandfather. 
She  dipped  into  Biichner  and  Helmholz,  and  even  went 
back  to  Helvetius  and  D'Holbach  that  she  might  get 
the  doctrine  at  the  fountain.  So  she  understood  that 
if  a  giraffe  without  a  long  neck  only  wants  one  enough, 
he  will  get  it  by  stretching  up  his  neck  to  the  top  of 
the  palm-trees ;  and  that  if  a  seal  on  the  beach  wants 
a  pair  of  legs,  and  tries  for  them  hard  enough,  he  will 
develop  them,  and  that  what  there  is  left  of  his  tail 
will  dwindle  down  into  insignificance.  This  is  the 
doctrine  of  the  nisus,  or  effort.  Susan,  who  was  a 
good  girl,  satisfied  herself  with  the  effort  to  be  very 
wise,  and  hoped  that  it  would  come  out  all  right ;  but 


little  did  she  think  all  the  time  how  the  same  doctrine 
was  soaking  into  Mr.  Mackintosh's  empty  head,  and 
what  a  nuisance  it  would  be  to  her. 

This  is  the  reason  why  I  feel  sure  it  would  have  been 
better  to  have  left  him  in  his  case  with  the  umbrellas 
at  the  door.  But,  as  you  will  see,  it  was  an  annoyance, 
if  you  were  walking  to  a  lecture  with  a  party,  to  have 
to  make  some  ridiculous  excuse  for  staying  outside; 
and  also  it  seems  rather  cheap  to  confess  that  you  al 
ways  go  to  the  play  or  lecture  with  a  man  who  cares 
nothing  about  Shakespeare  or  geology,  and  prefers  to 
stay  elsewhere.  It  was  to  the  scientific  lectures  and 
the  really  first-class  concerts  that  she  took  him  most, 
for  to  those  a  school-mistress  of  her  grade  was  almost 
sure  to  have  free  tickets  sent  her.  As  to  places  where 
she  paid  for  tickets,  she  never  dreamed  of  taking  him 
into  the  house  there. 

But  it  was  really  as  great  a  misfortune  to  him  as  it 
was  to  her.  Empty-headed  creature  as  he  was,  of 
course  he  listened  to  nothing,  heard  nothing,  and  un 
derstood  nothing — at  first.  And  it  never  occurred  to 
Susan  that  things  would  not  stay  on  this  easy  and 
cheerful  basis.  But  nothing  stays  on  the  thoroughly 
comfortable  basis.  People  always  attempt  improve 
ments,  which  often  result  in  ruin.  So  it  is  that  Vol 
taire  says  that  "  the  better  is  the  enemy  of  the  good." 

One  night  there  were  some  very  bright  and  wonder 
ful  stereoscopes.  And  poor  addle-pated  Mr.  Mackin 
tosh  could  not  help  having  the  rays  come  through  his 
gray  glass  eyes  into  that  empty  camera-obscura  of  his 
head.  And  of  course  the  picture  could  not  help  show 
ing  itself  all  upside-down  and  hind  side  before.  But  it 


10  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

amused  him  and  pleased  him.  And  that  night  his 
mask  had  very  large  ears,  so  that  he  could  not  help 
listening  a  little.  And  then  he  listened  more.  For  the 
man  was  gesticulating  and  quoting  and  illustrating  and 
making  it  very  plain,  so  that  if  Mr.  Mackintosh  would 
only  "  make  an  effort,"  as  Mrs.  Chick  said,  all  would  be 
well.  I  suppose  he  did  "  make  an  effort,"  as  far  as 
rattan  and  whalebone  could,  and  so  he  formed  that 
habit,  which  proved  bad  for  him,  of  listening  to  the 
man  more.  As  for  keeping  his  eyes  and  ears  open,  he 
could  not  help  that,  for  none  of  the  masks  were  made 
with  eyes  or  ears  that  opened  or  shut,  and  he  had  to 
look  and  listen  whether  he  wanted  to  or  not.  The  rest 
of  us  are  more  fortunate. 

Susan,  quite  unconsciously,  hurried  on  the  mischief 
which  had  been  begun,  by  talking  to  him  herself  as 
they  walked  home  from  the  lectures  and  concerts.  I 
do  not  think  she  did  this  for  practice  in  talking.  For 
she  talked  a  good  deal  in  the  school-room,  and,  though 
she  is  a  modest  girl,  I  think  she  must  know  that  with 
out  special  practice  she  is  as  good  a  talker  as  you  shall 
meet  with  in  a  long  day.  But  she  was  sensitive  and 
conscious  about  the  deception  which  she  was  keeping 
up  with  Mr.  Mackintosh— or  with  the  public  in  the 
affair  of  Mr.  Mackintosh.  Dr.  Primrose  preached  that 
terrible  sermon  of  his  about  "Truth"  just  then,  and 
made  it  clear  that  any  conscious  deception  was  a  lie, 
whether  you  said  a  word  or  not.  This  worried  her  a 
little.  For  was  she  not  consciously  deceiving  every 
loafer  on  Washington  Street  or  Boylston  Street  ?  Had 
she  not  made  Mr.  Mackintosh  on  purpose  that  she 
might  deceive  them  ?  But  a  certain  under-conscious- 


11 

ness  that  she  meant  no  wrong  sustained  her  against 
Dr.  Primrose,  and  at  first  the  stings  of  conscience  only 
pricked  her  so  deep  as  to  make  her  resolve  that  she 
would  not  be  found  out — no,  not  if  she  met  Dr.  Prim 
rose  and  Mrs.  Primrose  both.  So  she  thought  it  more 
prudent — that  was  the  word  she  used  in  discussing  it 
with  herself — to  keep  up  an  animated  conversation  with 
Mr.  Mackintosh  in  the  street  when  she  observed  that 
any  one  was  near  them.  And  indeed  this  proved  so 
agreeable,  as  conversation  is  apt  to  when  you  do  all  the 
talking,  that  she  kept  it  up  all  the  time  from  the  lect 
ure  or  concert  to  the  station.  After  they  came  to  the 
station  she  always  folded  him  up  in  some  recess  of  the 
ladies'  waiting-room.  For  Providence  Railroad  con 
ductors  are  pitiless,  and  would  have  been  sure  to  de 
mand  a  ticket  for  him. 

"  That  is  a  magnificent  harmony  at  the  end  of  the 
third  act."  No  audible  reply— but  one  so  seldom  hears 
both  sides  of  a  conversation.  "I  was  not  sure  but 
Gloria  strained  a  little  in  striking  the  non ;  but  it  was 
all  so  good  that  it  is  absurd  to  pick  out  flaws."  Again 
Mr.  Mackintosh's  voice  is  lost  as  those  firemen  rush  by. 
Or,  "  Could  you  quite  follow  him  in  what  he  said  about 
the  permanence  of  type?  How  can  it  be,  if  the  type 
is  permanent,  that  we  should  notice  the  transition,  as 
Mr.  Shaler  pointed  it  out  Tuesday  ?  But  then,  I  am 
not  quite  sure  if  Mr.  Shaler  and  Mr.  Barton  quite  agree 
about  that.  You  must  remind  me  to  ask  him.  Or  we 
might  send  a  note  to  Notes  and  Queries"  Now,  if  the 
bishop  himself  had  heard  that,  or  Mrs.  Bishop,  neither 
would  have  minded,  or  remembered  afterwards,  that 
Mr.  Mackintosh  said  nothing. 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 


IV 


But,  alas!  simple  Susan  carried  on  this  rattling  and 
interesting  conversation  quite  too  far  and  too  long. 
Mr.  Mackintosh  had  been  making  all  the  nisus,  or 
effort,  he  could  in  listening  to  the  stereoscope  man, 
and  he  had  all  the  encouragement  of  the  success  of 
the  giraffe  and  the  seals.  Now,  here  was  this  bright, 
wise,  merry  Susan  Ellsworth,  who  bore  him  along, 
who  was  the  result  of  just  such  efforts  as  he  was 
making.  And  he  found  it  much  more  agreeable  to 
listen  to  her  sweet,  low-toned  voice  just  in  his  ear,  her 
breath  fragrant  as  clover,  and  her  hand  under  his  arm 
beating  a  pulse  in  keeping  with  all  she  said—  he  found 
this  much  more  agreeable  than  straining  his  poor  little 
new  wits  to  make  out  what  the  man  on  the  platform  a 
hundred  feet  away  was  howling  about.  So  he  was  al 
ways  distressed  when  any  of  her  friends  joined  them 
to  take  advantage  of  his  protection,  and  when  Susan 
turned  away  from  him  to  speak  to  Maud  or  Clara.  To 
say  the  truth,  this  did  not  happen  often.  For  Maud 
and  Clara  had  the  same  proper  pride  about  hitching  on 
upon  other  people's  escorts  as  had  governed  Susan  in 
her  independent  days. 

While  poor  Mr.  Mackintosh  made  this  nisus,  or  effort, 
to  hear,  he  was  all  the  time  making  wild  and  futile 
efforts  to  speak.  For  these  he  had  wretched  organs 
and  more  wretched  opportunities.  For  one  night  in 
the  family-circle,  where  Susan  had  unfolded  him  after 
they  had  passed  the  ticket-gate,  he  had  seen  the  police 
man  seize  two  boys  who  were  catcalling,  and  hale  them 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT"  13 

off  he  knew  not  whither.  So  poor  Mr.  Mackintosh  was 
frightened,  and  did  not  dare  to  try  experiments  in 
doors.  Then,  as  soon  as  they  came  to  the  railway  sta 
tion,  Susan  always  ruthlessly  shut  him  up,  and  he  had 
no  organization  at  all.  Literally  he  "  went  to  pieces," 
and  it  was  not  slang  to  say  so.  One  night,  in  a  high 
gale,  Susan  was  dragging  him  beside  her — or  rather 
behind  her — and  he  tried  to  speak,  but  nothing  but  a 
great  howl  came  out,  which  was  half  a  sneeze.  She 
did  not  suspect  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  it. 
And  the  poor  creature  was  dreadfully  mortified  by  his 
failure. 

But  another  night,  very  imprudently,  she  left  him 
sitting  in  a  chair,  in  the  anteroom  of  the  hall  of  the 
"  Sons  of  Idleness."  The  hall  had  been  hired  for  a 
"  reception  "  which  was  given  by  the  graduates  of  Vas- 
sar  to  one  of  the  professors  who  was  going  to  Germany 
on  his  sabbatical  visit.  Susan  thought  she  was  safe  in 
leaving  Mr,  Mackintosh  in  a  dark  corner  without  fold 
ing  him  up.  And  so  she  was.  He  sat,  with  his  chin 
on  his  hands,  as  she  left  him,  and  thus  he  had,  for  once, 
the  chance  to  try  his  various  gruntings  and  bowlings, 
and  to  pass  through  the  experiments  of  the  ascidian  to 
the  more  articulate  language  of  the  man. 

Fortunately  for  him,  he  had  some  lessons  just  when 
he  needed  them  most  and  expected  them  least. 

For  one  of  the  other  escorts,  who  had  been  taken 
into  the  reception  hall,  came  running  out,  and  help 
lessly  rushed  up  and  down  the  waiting-room,  annoyed 
that  he  found  no  one  there.  But  in  his  despair  he  saw 
Mr.  Mackintosh. 

"  Ugh — ah — glad  to  see  somebody — ugh — could  you 


14  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

— can  you — yes — would  you  tell  me,  please — ugh,  you 
know — don't  you  see  ?  —  where  the  water  is  ?  —  Miss 
Maelstrom — ugh — is  faint — you  know  !" 

Mr.  Mackintosh's  time  had  come.  Imitation  was  his 
cue,  clearly,  as  in  Kosenthal  and  Prendergast.  With 
one  sublime  effort  he  echoed  the  other,  wondering,  as 
he  did  so,  whether  perhaps  he  had  as  much  brain. 

"Ugh" — tremendously  prolonged — "ah"  —shorter, 
but  very  long — "glad  to  see  somebody" — this  hope 
lessly  indistinct  from  eagerness,  like  an  Edison  turned 
three  times  too  fast ;  "could  you — can  you — can  you— 
could  you" — this  slower — "water — Maelstrom— ugh 
—ah — yes,  you  know."  But  fortunately,  in  his  ag 
ony  gesticulating  like  a  schoolboy  who  forgets  his 
piece,  he  pointed  his  finger  to  the  looking-glass,  where 
stood  pitcher  and  tumbler  in  full  sight  of  both  of 
them. 

"  Ugh  —  oh  —  thanks  —  yes  —  so  much  —  so  much 
obliged,  you  know — thanks — ugh,  oh,  Miss  Maelstrom" 
—and  Mr.  Knowitz  vanished  with  his  tumbler. 

Mr.  Mackintosh  had  tried  and  had  succeeded,  and  on 
these  sounds  he  practised  all  the  evening. 

Would  she  give  him  another  chance  for  practice? 
Alas,  no !  or  it  seemed  no.  That  night  as  they  went 
home  there  was  a  great  group  of  Yassarites,  all  bub 
bling  over  with  fun — effervescing  and  spluttering  as  so 
many  bottles  of  XX  might  do  which  had  been  warmed 
at  a  sociable  all  the  evening.  And  he  thought  Susan 
had  never  been  so  remorseless  as  she  was  in  undoing 
him  that  night.  The  next  evening  was  worse.  A  gen 
tleman  joined  her  on  the  other  side.  And  poor  Mack- 


HE  SAT,  WITH  HIS  CHIN  ON   HIS  HANDS 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT  15 

intosh  was  afraid  for  his  very  life  as  they  swung  along. 
It  was  not  till  the  third  night  that  he  had  a  chance,  or 
so  it  seemed  to  the  poor  witless  creature. 


But  on  the  third  night  the  chance  came.  Susan  was 
in  the  highest  spirits.  The  night  was  clear  and  cold, 
and  they  devoured  the  pavement  as  she  rushed  him 
along.  "Well,  my  dear  Mac,"  said  she,  mercilessly, 
"that  was  first-rate.  I  do  not  wonder  women  want 
to  speak,  if  they  could  speak  like  that.  Mac,  if  I 
could  get  Mr.  Edison  to  give  me  one  of  his  rollers,  I 
would  attach  it  to  you,  and  you  should  repeat  the  end 
of  Mr.  Bryce's  lecture." 

"  Ugh — ah — you  know — well — Miss  Susan — ugh,  ah 
— give  me  a  chance — you  know — and  I  will  do-'em-all." 
The  end  was  badly  run  together. 

"What,  you — my  dear  Mac?"  This  was  all  Susan 
said,  and  she  almost  dropped  him  in  the  gutter  in  her 
surprise,  and  she  lost  her  own  speech  for  laughing.  She 
laughed  so  that  she  shook  him  from  his  cap  to  his  arc 
tics,  and  all  the  poor  breath  he  had  in  his  limp  ribs  was 
knocked  out  of  him.  And  when  she  came  to  herself, 
all  she  could  say  was,  "  Poor  dear  Mac !  I  beg  your 
pardon,  but" — then  she  broke  down  again — "but  who 
ever  dreamed  of  your  talking  ?" 

But  then  it  was  poor  Mac's  turn.  She  had  to  listen, 
and  he  told  her,  with  many  unnecessary  "  ughs"  and 
"  ahs,"  and  "  you  knows,"  and  "  don't  you  sees,"  that 
he  was  sure  he  only  needed  more  practice  to  speak  quite 


16  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

well.  It  was  true  that  he  could  not  manage  r,  and  he 
always  called  th  d  ;  but  so  did  many  gentlemen  he  met. 
He  needed  extra  breath,  but  "  ugh"  and  "  oh"  seemed 
to  help  in  this.  And  when  he  had  not  an  idea,  he 
could  fill  in  with  "don't  you  see"  and  "you  know." 

"  You  poor  dear  thing,"  said  Susan,  compassionate!  v, 
as  she  unscrewed  his  head  and  put  it  in  her  bag,  "  you 
are  really  eloquent." 


VI 

But  the  reader  will  see  that  a  good  girl  like  Susan 
could  not  shut  up  the  face  just  now  eager  in  its  en 
treaties,  and  go  to  sleep,  after  she  had  silenced  it,  with 
out  serious  thought.  Here  was  a  matter  of  conscience 
more  formidable  than  that  question  about  veracity 
which  Dr.  Primrose  had  started.  Was  it  quite  hon 
orable  in  her,  was  it  fair— nay,  was  it  right — to  start 
this  poor  feeble  creature  in  his  career,  to  let  him  par 
take  of  a  little  taste  of  the  wonders  of  science,  of  art, 
and  of  music,  and  then  to  snuff  him  out  like  a  candle, 
simply  because  she  chose  to?  Susan  tossed  in  her  bed 
a  good  deal  before  she  went  to  sleep,  with  these  ques 
tions  troubling  her.  And  early  in  the  morning,  when 
the  singing  birds  first  awakened  her  by  their  carols  to 
the  rising  sun,  she  rose,  screwed  Mr.  Mackintosh  to 
gether,  tied  him  to  an  arm-chair  in  her  entry,  and  left 
him  to  enjoy  the  sunrise.  As  she  went  to  sleep  again 
she  could  hear  him  practising  an  imitation  of  this 
morning  hymn  of  the  birds,  who  were  Plymouth  Kock 
cockerels.  The  poor  brainless  creature  did  not  know 
any  better ;  he  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  these  were. 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT  17 

the  morning  songs  of  men.  Susan  was  pleased  with 
herself  for  this  act  of  mercy,  and  she  did  not  take  him 
to  pieces  till  it  was  time  for  her  to  go  to  school. 

As  it  happened,  he  was  this  time  shut  up — and,  so  to 
speak,  ceased  to  be  as  an  individual — longer  than  had 
ever  happened  to  him  before.  For,  to  her  delight,  as 
the  school  recess  came,  Susan  received  a  card,  and  visit 
close  following,  from  George  Farmer,  the  fine  young 
engineer  officer  to  whom,  as  I  said,  she  was  engaged. 
By  good  luck,  and  by  good  strategy  of  his  own,  he  had 
got  himself  ordered  to  Boston,  to  make  a  contract  for 
some  ice  for  the  meat -cars  of  the  Cattaraugus  and 
Opelousas  Railroad.  With  good  luck,  this  ice  contract 
and  certain  subsidiary  negotiations  were  made  to  last  a 
fortnight,  and  during  that  whole  time  Susan  needed  no 
escort  other  than  George,  and,  in  truth,  thought  very 
little  of  any  other.  But  at  length  the  last  day  of 
George's  visit  came,  as  last  days  will,  and  then  she 
began  to  think  how  dreadful  it  would  be  to  have 
nobody  but  Mr.  Mackintosh  to  go  anywhere  with  her. 
Still,  she  was  less  disposed  than  ever  to  cut  off  her 
hair  and  to  retire  into  a  convent. 

Wisely,  therefore,  the  girl  submitted  the  question  to 
her  lover.  But  she  did  it  in  a  guarded  wray,  which  I 
would  not  recommend  to  other  good  girls  in  a  like  po 
sition  ;  if,  indeed,  there  ever  may  be  such  girls.  As 
they  came  home  from  the  Symphony  on  that  wretched 
farewell  night  she  said  :  "  George,  I  want  your  ad 
vice.  You  are  so  good,  and — and  you  are  never  jeal 
ous.  You  see,  when  you  are  away,  I  have  no  one  to 
go  with  me  to  the  concerts,  you  know,  and  the  lect 
ures." 


18 

"  No ;  you  used  to  boast  of  your  independence  when 
I  first  knew  you." 

"I  know  —  yes,  I  did.  But  I  was  very  foolish." 
And  then  she  told  him  of  that  horrid  fright  she  had 
had.  And  he  was  very  angry,  and  swore — just  a  little 
— and  made  her  promise  to  run  no  such  risk  again. 
This  made  it  easier  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  No  ;  I  knew  you  would  not  let  me.  That  is  why  I 
did  not  write  you  about  it.  But  what  I  did  —  you 
must  not  be  angry — was  to  take  a  poor  stick  there  was, 
with  nothing  to  do,  to  come  and  go  with  me.  You  do 
not  mind  that,  do  you  ?"  And  here  she  looked  up  at 
him  with  her  most  roguish  and  confiding  smile.  But 
George's  face  clouded  ;  she  could  see  it  did. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  he.  "That  would  depend. 
What  sort  of  a  creature  is  he — an  old  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know.  Don't  be  jealous,  now.  I  do  not 
suppose  he  is  very  oJd ;  perhaps  he  is  very  young.  You 
see,  he  was  deaf — and  dumb — and  blind — and  could 
hardly  walk.  So  I  did  not  suppose  you  would  care." 

At  this  George  grinned  a  somewhat  ghastly  smile, 
and  said  he  didn't  care  quite  so  much  ;  but  asked  how, 
if  the  man  was  deaf,  he  could  enjoy  the  concerts. 

You  will  observe  also  that  Susan  wandered  from 
Dr.  Primrose's  instructions.  She  said  Mr.  Mackintosh 
uwas"  deaf  and  dumb — she  hardly  dared  say  "he  is" 
— and  there  was  conscious  deception  again.  In  an 
swer  to  her  lover  she  said :  "  Enjoy  the  concerts  ? 
Who  ever  said  he  enjoyed  the  concerts?"  She  was  a 
little  reassured,  as  women  are,  because  lie  had  made  an 
unimportant  mistake.  "  You  do  not  suppose  I  ever 
bought  a  concert  ticket  for  him,  do  you  ?  No ;  I  take 


19 

him  as  I  would  a  cab  after  the  concert  was  over. 
Dear  George,  you  must  not  be  jealous  of  him  more 
than  you  would  be  of  a  cabman." 

"  You  do  not  take  a  cabman's  arm,"  said  George,  a 
little  irresolutely ;  and  Susan  shuddered  as  she  recol 
lected  with  how  firm  a  grip  she  had  to  take  all  the 
arm  Mr.  Mackintosh  had.  "What  is  the  wretch's 
name  ?"  continued  he. 

"Name?"  said  Susan.  "Do  you  ask  your  cabman's 
name?  I  never  asked  him.  We  call  him  Mr.  Mackin 
tosh,  from  the  coat  he  wears,  but  I  never  asked  him 
his  name.  I  do  not  believe  he  has  any." 

This  encouraged  George  a  little ;  but  still  he  said  he 
did  not  think  it  was  nice  or  wise,  and  that  nobody  but 
as  innocent  and  sweet  a  girl  as  Susy  would  ever  have 
fallen  into  so  silly  a  plan.  He  even  asked  if  other 
girls  in  Boston  had  to  hire  their  escorts.  At  which 
Susy  said  that  other  girls  had  escorts  who  did  not  live 
in  the  Eocky  Mountains,  or  in  Opelousas  either;  and 
at  that  Mr.  George  had  to  come  down  from  his  high 
horse.  It  ended  by  a  compromise.  She  agreed,  when 
she  went  anywhere  alone,  to  order  a  cab  regularly  at 
a  stable  he  named,  and  he  declared  that  the  next  time 
he  came  to  Boston  he  should  pay  the  bill.  Whether 
she  would  let  him  or  not  was  left  undecided  in  the 
final  ceremonies  of  the  farewell.  For  he  left  in  that 
horrible  train  which  goes  off  at  eleven  at  night,  and 
there  was  no  question  but  that  he  must  go. 

So  all  Susan  had  got  by  asking  advice  was  that  she 
was  worse  off  than  she  was  when  she  asked  for  it. 
This  is  what  is  apt  to  happen,  dear  Clara,  when  you 
do  not  tell  your  whole  story  to  your  adviser. 


20  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 


VII 

And  now  she  must  deal  with  Mr.  Mackintosh  alone, 
by  her  own  unassisted  sense,  such  as  it  was.  Reallv 
it  was  stronger,  as  the  reader  has  seen,  in  the  inventive 
and  mechanical  lines  than  it  was  in  the  philosophical 
and  ethical  lines. 

Of  course  she  could  have  left  Mr.  Mackintosh  where 
he  was — his  legs  and  arms  in  the  glazed  umbrella-case, 
his  masks  in  her  alligator-skin  bag,  and  his  arctics  on 
the  floor  of  her  closet.  But,  as  has  been  said,  she  did 
not  think  this  fair.  She  had  thought  of  burning  him 
up.  But  she  was  too  strong  a  Protestant ;  her  rem 
iniscences  of  Smithfield  and  John  Rogers  were  too 
strong,  and  that  she  would  not  do.  She  had  called 
him  into  such  being  as  he  had,  poor  creature,  and  she 
would  not  destroy  her  own  work.  "  That  would  be 
simply  mean,"  she  said  to  herself  ;  "  that  would  not  be 
fair." 

So  she  took  another  morning  when  the  cocks  were 
crowing,  and  screwed  him  together,  and  tied  him  to  a 
chair  as  before.  Poor  Mr.  Mackintosh  did  not  know 
how  long  he  had  ceased  to  exist,  any  more  than  Mr. 
Hyde  knew  how  long  Dr.  Jekyll  had  been  running  the 
machine.  Nor  was  the  poor  thing  as  wretched  as  the 
girl  chose  to  fancy  him.  For,  as  he  had  none  of  that 
essence  which  loves  and  fears,  hopes,  admires,  and 
worships,  he  had  nothing  worth  remembering,  if  he 
could  remember,  as  he  could  not ;  and  nothing  to  look 
forward  to,  if  he  could  look  forward,  as  he  could  not. 
But  this,  simple  Susan  did  not  consider.  She  simply 


SUSANS  ESCORT  21 

screwed  him  together.  He  listened  to  the  cock-a-doo- 
dles,  as  he  did  before;  and  if  he  had  thought,  as  he 
could  not  and  did  not,  he  would  have  thought  that 
this  was  thus  and  then  was  now. 

Then  Susan  went  to  bed  and  slept  till  the  dressing- 
bell  rang.  As  she  dressed,  she  began  a  little  note  to 
George,  for  she  had  promised  to  write  to  him  twice 
a  day.  But  after  breakfast,  before  school-time,  she 
came  up  and  brought  Mr.  Mackintosh  into  her  room 
and  locked  the  door.  He  had  never  been  in  that  room 
before. 

u  Mac,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  not  want  you  any  more. 
What  do  you  want  to  do?  What  do  you  like  to  do 
most?" 

"Oh,  ugh,  ah— you  know — don't  you  see — well,  you 
know— 
And  Susan  was  patient,  for  she  often  had  such  re 
marks  addressed  to  her  by  her  partners  who  were  not 
skilful  in  extempore  speech.  So  she  waited.  And  at 
last  it  came,  as  gas  comes  after  the  puff  of  air  in  a 
poor  gas-pipe. 

« If— you  know,  Miss  Susan — I  could  go  to  some  of 
those  parties  —  receptions  —  like  that  of  the  Sons  of 
Idleness.  Indeed,  Miss  Susan,  I  can  talk  as  well — as 
the  young  men  I  see  there." 

"  I  think  you  can,"  said  Susan.  "  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  my  work  if  you  could  not.  I  had  thought 
of  that,  Mac.  But  I  cannot  do  it,  for  you  have  no 
pumps  nor  patent-leather  shoes.  And  your  trousers 
are  not  good.  I  have  no  money  to  throw  away  on 
parties.  Think  of  something  else,  Mac." 

It  is  not  worth  the  while  to  load  the  page  with  poor 


22  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

Mac's  "  ohs"  and  "  ughs  "  and  other  "  spaces."  In  sub 
stance  he  then  asked  if  he  might  not  be  a  juryman.  "  I 
thought  I  could ;  you  know  they  do  not  have  to  know 
anything,  and,  indeed,  are  better  when  they  do  not." 

"-That  is  good,  Mac.  I  had  not  thought  of  that,  but 
I  will,"  said  the  girl.  And  so  she  took  his  head  off  and 
shut  him  up,  and  took  this  plan  into  consideration. 

But  of  course  she  did  not  assent  to  it.  That  same 
day  she  read  the  Court  Calendar,  and  was  distressed  to 
think  that  she  had  yielded  even  for  an  hour.  When 
she  went  home  she  put  Mac  together,  and  told  him  that 
this  would  not  do. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  very  piteously,  "  might  I  not  be  an 
under-editor  to  an  independent  journal?  You  know 
they  do  not  have  any  opinions,  and  are  very  proud  that 
they  do  not.  I  am  sure  I  never  had  any  opinions.  I 
do  not  know  what  an  opinion  is."  But  this  time  Susan 
was  not  deceived ;  this  was  only  the  jury  plan  under 
another  form. 

Then  Mac  pleaded,  quite  eloquently  for  him,  that  he 
might  stay  just  what  he  was.  He  had  seen  the  red- 
capped  messenger  men  at  the  station.  He  envied  one 
of  them  his  one  arm,  because  practically  poor  Mac  had 
no  arms  at  all.  "  JSTow  I  could  not  go  of  errands,  Miss 
Susan.  But  you  say  yourself  I  do  my  work  well.  You 
could  fasten  me  at  the  door,  and  any  one  who  wanted 
me  would  unfasten  me." 

"  My  dear  Mac,  you  do  not  see.  The  secret  would 
be  discovered,  and  then  the  roughs  would  not  mind 
you.  Don't  you  see,  Mac,  you  cannot  knock  a  man 
down?  You  might  as  well  be  a  woman,  for  all  the 
good  you  are  in  your  own  business,  unless  people  think 


=*& 


"'MAC,'  SAID   SHE,   'l   SHALL  NOT   WANT  YOU   ANY   MORE'" 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT 

you  are  a  man.  And  if  they  do  think  so,  it  is  because 
I  'consciously  deceive'  them.  Oh  dear !  Oh  dear!  I 
wish  you  had  never  been  born  !"  And  the  poor  girl 
broke  out  crying.  But  she  did  not  say,  "  I  wish  I  had 
never  been  born,"  for  the  memory  of  George's  last  kiss 
came  to  her 

"  I  had  thought,"  said  Mac,  "  of  voting.  What  you 
say  of  women  reminds  me  that  they  cannot  vote ;  but 
I  can." 

"No,  you  can't,"  said  Susan,  smartly,  for  she  knew. 
"You  have  not  registered,  and  you  have  not  been  as 
sessed." 

"  I  could  register,"  said  Mac. 

"  You  can't  register ;  it's  a  very  smart  person  who 
knows  how  to  register ;  and,  besides,  you  can't  read  the 
Constitution.  So  it  would  be  of  no  use  if  you  could 
register." 

"  No,"  said  Mac,  sadly,  "  I  cannot  read  the  Constitu 
tion.  You  don't  think  I  could  be  a  minister  ?" 

"  No,  you  couldn't.  There  are  some  kinds  that  know 
very  little,  but  they  all  have  to  know  something." 

"  Nor  a  doctor  ?" 

"  N-o,  Mac ;  at  least,  I  believe  not.  I  think  they 
have  to  know  something." 

"  Nor  a  lawyer  ?" 

"  No,  certainly  not.  You  have  no  eye-teeth.  And 
they  have  to  be  cut  before  you  are  a  lawyer.  I  heard 
Judge  Jeffries  say  so." 

And  then  they  waited.  "  I  will  talk  to  you  again 
by-and-by,"  she  said.  And  then  she  ran  down-stairs  to 
meet  the  postman,  and  found  just  a  little  postal  card, 
on  which  George  had  written  in  French  that  she  was 


24  SUSAN'S  ESCOET,  AND  OTHEES 

the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,  and  that  he  should  always 
love  her.  Immediately  on  this  she  took  Mr.  Mackin 
tosh  to  pieces,  dressed  herself  for  the  Appalachian 
Club,  went  to  Boston,  and  tried  her  pretty  cab  for  the 
first  time.  It  was  really  an  elegant  little  coupe,  and 
the  stable-keeper  had  put  the  driver  in  livery.  George 
had  written  to  him  from  Springfield  that  the  coupe 
must  wait  for  Miss  Ellsworth  every  evening. 

But  the  next  morning  Susan  brought  her  little  drama 
to  an  end. 

She  screwed  Mr.  Mac  together  once  more,  and  said, 
"  Tell  me  yourself  what  you  want  to  be." 

"Could  I  not  be  Vice-President,"  he  said;  "till  the 
President  died,  you  know ;  or  Lieutenant-Governor,  or 
something  like  that  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  Mac ;  they  might  not  know  when  to  un 
screw  you." 

"  Could  I  not  be  a  trustee  ?  I  believe  trustees  have 
to  be  cautious,  and  not  do  the  rash  things  other  people 
do." 

"  I  had  thought  of  that,  Mac,  and  I  inquired.  But 
you  would  have  to  give  bonds.  Now,  no  one  would 
give  bonds  for  you.  I  am  sure  I  would  not."  This 
was  cruel  in  Susan  ;  but  sometimes  she  is  cruel. 

"  Then,  Miss  Susan,  why  cannot  I  be  what  I  am  '?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  want  you." 

"But  somebody  else  might  want  me.  I  could  stand 
in  front  of  tailors'  shops  with  new  clothes  on.  I  should 
like  to  be  that.  I  see  a  great  many  young  men  who  do 
that  and  nothing  else,  and  they  seem  to  like  it  very 
much." 

"You  dear  old  Mac  1"  cried  the  girl;  "you  have 


SUSAN'S   ESCORT  25 

more  sense  than  any  of  us— at  least,  more  than  I  have. 
It  is  the  best  sense  possible  to  be  what  you  are,  and 
pretend  to  nothing  more.  I  knew  that,  though  I  have 
never  tried  it,  for  Mr.  Emerson  says  so." 

So  she  went  with  him  to  Cutter  &  Dresser's  that 
very  day.  They  are  the  great  ready-made  clothing 
men.  And  they  took  Mac  at  once  off  her  hands  liter 
ally.  And  they  put  on  him  that  handsome  Garrick  you 
saw  me  wearing  yesterday.  That  was  the  way  I  came 
to  know  the  story. 

And— will  you  believe  it  ?— one  day  when  they  had 
dressed  him  in  a  costumer's  suit  as  Dromio  of  Syracuse, 
old  Mac  forgot,  and  began  walking  up  and  down  the 
balcony  on  which  he  was  standing.  The  people  in  the 
street  saw  it,  and  fancied  he  was  a  wonderful  autom 
aton.  They  stopped  in  hundreds  to  see  him,  and  of  the 
hundreds  scores  went  in  to  buy. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  triumphant  success  of 
Cutter  &  Dresser.  They  owed  it  all  to  Susan,  and  I 
think  they  will  send  her  a  pair  of  salt-spoons  for  her 
wedding. 


ONE    GOOD    TUEN 


HELEN  MELCHEK  was  just  going  to  bed.  Twice  she 
looked  doubtfully  at  the  old  bureau,  which  had  been 
her  mother's ;  once  she  half  crossed  the  room  towards  it. 
The  third  time  her  resolution  gave  way,  and  she  opened 
the  upper  drawer  and  took  out  her  journal-book.  She 
sat  down,  opened  it,  read  the  last  entry,  which  was,  in 
truth,  rather  forlorn,  paused  again,  with  her  pen  in  her 
hand  ;  but  then,  without  any  further  hesitation,  wrote 
quickly  and  steadily  thus : 

"  Friday,  December  2Qtli. — Another  good-for-nolhing  day.  I  have 
hesitated  before  I  would  even  waste  good  ink  on  telling  the  story  of 
such  wasted  hours.  I  did  better  in  those  days  of  the  early  journals, 
which  say  '  Washed  my  doll's  clothes,'  '  Ironed  my  doll's  clothes.' 
If  Clara  and  John  would  only  let  me,  now,  I  would  send  Bridget 
off  to-morrow,  and  would  wash  and  iron  my  own.  Why,  I  should 
then,  at  least,  be  good  for  something  ! 

"I  have  no  longer  even  the  wretched  occupation  of  going  to  Dr. 
Hunter's.  He  says  my  wrist  is  all  right,  if  only  I  do  nothing.  And 
that  is  just  what  I  am  good  for.  It  is  lucky  for  me  that  he  has  done 
with  me  ;  for  I  gave  him  my  last  two  dollars,  and  I  shall  have  to  go 
on  foot  till  dividend  day  if  I  save  this  bright  quarter  for  the  contri 
bution-box.  For  that  matter,  I  may  just  as  well  stay  at  home  as  go 
out.  It  is  all  one  with  such  a  do-nothing  as  I  am.  I  even  told  John 
Orcutt,  at  the  doctor's,  that  his  time  was  more  valuable  than  mine, 
and  I  let  him  take  my  turn,  first  among  the  patients,  when  he  would 
have  been  last.  Then  I  sat  reading  the  American  Orthopedist  for  the 


ONE    GOOD    TURN  27 

hour,  while  the  others  went  in.  It  was  just  as  well.  What  was  I 
good  for  ?  Poor  John  Orcutt !  I  wonder  if  lie  understood  how  bit 
ter  was  my  satire  !" 

And  with  this  exclamation-point  Helen  Melcher  went 
to  bed. 


II 

The  Eecording  Angel  copied  Helen's  entry  into  his 
big  book  in  much  fewer  words  than  I  have  used.  They 
have  a  shorthand  there  which  we  cannot  yet  imitate. 

And  the  Recording  Angel  smiled  with  that  grave, 
queer,  sweet  smile  of  his,  which  no  artist  as  yet  has 
given  us  on  canvas.  It  had  been  a  busy  day  with  him  ; 
for  he  had  had  all  John  Orcutt's  entry  to  make,  and  all 
the  entries  of  all  the  lives  in  all  the  places  and  all  the 
countries  which  hinged  on  John  Orcutt's.  And  so  the 
Recording  Angel  did  not  think  Helen  Melcher's  day  so 
insignificant  as  she  did. 

The  truth  is  that  that  particular  day  of  hers  kept 
him  very  busy  for  a  long  time,  and  we  shall  see.  In 
fact,  he  had  to  ask  for  more  assistants,  and  he  had  them 
granted  him ;  for  they  are  very  kind  there  to  servants 
as  faithful  as  he. 


Ill 

John  Orcutt  was  not  in  any  sense  what  you  would 
call  an  important  man.  He  was  an  honest,  rather  slow 
coach,  unimaginative,  but  perfectly  willing  to  do  his 
duty,  if  anybody  told  him  just  what  it  was.  He  was 
not  very  bright  in  finding  it  out  for  himself.  Indeed, 


28 


SUSAN  S    ESCOKT,   AND    OTHERS 


a  difference  in  that  very  faculty  is  one  of  the  rather 
critical  distinctions  between  men.  John  Orcutt  sat  in 
the  pew  next  at  the  right  of  Helen's  pew.  That  is  the 
way  she  came  to  know  his  name. 

When  at  Dr.  Hunter's  that  day  Helen  had  bitterly  said 
to  him  that  his  time  was  more  precious  than  hers,  and 
had  let  him  go  first  into  the  surgeon's  room,  he  had  not 
enough  wit  to  see  that  she  was  bitter  or  sad.  What  he 
knew  was  that  in  the  printing-office  that  morning  a 
heavy  chase  had  fallen  on  his  foot.  He  was  lame,  and 
he  was  afraid  that  some  of  the  little  bones  were  broken. 
He  had  had  to  take  a  cab  to  do  the  errands  which  his 
chief  had  given  him;  he  had  just  finished  that  crit 
ical  interview  with  their  counsel,  Kent  &  Marshall, 
about  the  libel ;  he  was  late  at  Dr.  Hunter's,  whose 
office  was  full  when  he  arrived,  and,  except  for  Hel 
en's  good-nature,  he  would  have  had  to  sit  there  an 
hour. 

As  it  was,  it  did  not  take  the  great  surgeon  two  min 
utes  to  tell  him  that  nothing  was  the  matter.  In  an 
other  minute  his  boot  was  on,  and  in  another  he  had 
called  a  cab  and  was  driving  quickly  back  to  the  office. 

His  chief  was  delighted  to  see  him. 

"  I  had  not  looked  for  you  before  five,"  he  said,  "  and 
you  so  lame,  too !  I  had  just  telegraphed  Marcy  at 
enormous  length ;  but  now  you  are  here,  I  will  leave 
the  office  to  you  and  catch  the  express  myself.  Per 
sonal  presence  moves  the  world.  I  will  be  back  Mon 
day  morning.  Lead  with  the  judiciary,  then  take  '  Bul 
garia  '  or  the  '  Fisheries,'  then  as  you  choose ;  only," 
said  the  chief,  as  he  pulled  on  his  overcoat  and  lifted 
down  his  travelling-sack,  "  Claghorn  is  to  say  nothing, 


ONE    GOOD    THEN  29 

not  if  you  have  to  kill  him.      We  say  nothing  about 
silver  and  about  Scotland  Yard,  you  know." 

And  so  John  Orcutt  was  left  in  charge  of  the  journal 
from  five  o'clock,  Friday,  till  breakfast-time,  Monday, 
while  the  great  man  swung  himself  to  the  train  and  to 
the  capital.  And  so,  also,  at  the  very  moment  when 
Helen  was  making  her  forlorn  entry  about  John  Orcutt 
in  her  diary  the  great  chief,  thanks  to  her,  was  rushing 
along,  asleep,  as  fast  as  steam  would  pull  him,  two 
hundred  miles  from  home. 


IV 

Let  us  follow  his  story  first,  and  then  we  will  go  back 
to  John  Orcutt,  in  the  office.  The  great  editor  arrived 
at  the  seat  of  government  at  last,  long  after  breakfast- 
time.  But  he  did  not  stop  for  breakfast;  nay,  he 
scarcely  stopped  to  wash  his  face  and  hands.  He  called 
a  cab,  and  in  ten  minutes  was  at  the  bureau  of  his 
friend,  the  great  officer  of  state,  to  whom  he  had  been 
telegraphing. 

"Are  you  a  foreign  minister?"  said  the.  messenger, 
who  sat  at  the  door,  surprised  at  the  unknown  visitor. 

"  I  am  a  domestic  minister,"  said  the  editor,  bluntly, 
and  pushed  by  the  unavailing  lackey. 

General  Marcy,  whom  he  had  come  so  far  to  see,  was 
at  his  desk,  working  as  if  he  were  never  tired.  A  young 
man  at  another  desk  looked  pale  and  "  dead-beat,"  and, 
if  he  had  spoken,  would  have  said  that  the  place  of 
private  clerk  to  a  Secretary  of  State  is  not  the  elegant 
sinecure  which  men  imagine  it.  A  Pueblo  blanket  lay 


30  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

on  a  sofa,  on  one  side,  rudely  tossed,  as  it  had  been 
thrown  back  after  the  secretary  had  caught  his  hour's 
nap  at  three  that  morning.  By  each  of  the  gentlemen 
was  a  cup  of  coffee. 

The  great  secretary  turned  to  the  editor  as  he  en 
tered,  almost  as  if  he  had  expected  him : 

"Is  it  you,  my  good  fellow  ?  It  is  so  like  you  to  come 
on.  But  I  supposed  that  was  out  of  the  question." 

"  I  thought  so  myself  when  I  wired  you."  And  then 
the  editor  at  once  observed  a  certain  doubt  on  his 
friend's  face,  and  added  :  "  You  have  my  despatch  ?" 

"  Despatch.  Yes,  I  think  so  ;  of  course.  When  ?  Gil 
bert,  did  we  have  any  despatch  from — from  Mr. —  ?" 

But  he  did  not  add  the  name.  Gilbert  had  produced 
the  despatch  and  brought  it  to  his  chief.  The  editor 
was  quite  quick  enough  to  see  that  it  had  never  been 
read  or  even  opened  before. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,"  said  Marcy,  not  so  much  as 
waiting  to  apologize,  "  for  me  to  read  you  the  full  text 
of  our  despatch  in  its  last  revision.  I  had  Clinton  here, 
well,  till  two  o'clock  last  night,  and  Maxwell  and  the 
chief  himself  sat  where  you  are  sitting.  These  are  the 
rough  drafts ;  most  of  it,  of  course,  is  mine.  But  the 
chief  himself  drew  this,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  it  is  in 
his  best  style.  Mr.  Gillott,  here,  was  good  enough  to 
make  a  clean  copy  while  I  caught  a  nap  there.  I  have 
been  sketching  the  instructions,  which  will  go  with  it, 
to  Franklin  and  to  Stowell.  Mr.  Gillott  will  give  us 
clean  drafts  of  these  while  I  am  reading.  Put  up  your 
feet,  and  I  will  read." 

So  he  rang  for  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  oysters  for 
his  guest,  and  while  Orcutt  partook  of  this  scant  re- 


ONE    GOOD    TUKN  31 

faction  the  great  secretary  read  to  him  that  cele 
brated  despatch  on  the  length  of  the  marine  league  and 
the  true  limits  of  blockade.  Logical  and  clear,  it  moved 
steadily  from  point  to  point,  and  compelled  conviction. 
It  asserted  the  rights  of  mankind  in  language  which  was 
absolute ;  it  stated  the  position  of  the  nation  in  the 
maintenance  of  these  rights  for  the  world  as  for  itself. 
It  ended  with  ten  lines  of  sharp  and  indignant  com 
ment  on  the  pettiness  and  duplicity  of  the  despatches, 
to  which  it  replied,  from  two  great  powers. 

The  reading  occupied  the  better  part  of  an  hour. 
When  Marcy  had  finished  he  and  his  friend  looked 
each  other  steadily  in  the  eye  for  a  minute  without 
speaking,  without  winking.  But  the  editor  smiled 
gravely  in  approval. 

"  Will  it  do  ?" 

"  It  is  simply  perfect,"  said  he.  "  It  sends  one  back 
to  the  Protector  and  John  Milton.  While  you  read  I 
gradually  forgot  our  modern  races,  nor  remembered 
the  existence  of  a  leading  article.  Do  ?  Why,  you 
redeem  diplomacy  when  you  make  such  a  record  of 
common-sense?" 

The  secretary  was  well  pleased.  He  even  blushed. 
"  I  am  glad  you  were  the  first  person  to  hear  it  after  it 
was  put  together." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  the  other ;  and  again  there  was  a 
long  pause.  The  secretary  rang  for  two  more  cups  of 
coffee. 

"  You  have  something  to  say,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  other.  "  Yes ;  I  have.  Charles 
— you  men  here — }rou  do  not  know  the  country  as  well 
as  we  do. ' 


32  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"You  are  always  saying  that,"  replied  the  great 
diplomatist,  annoyed. 

"Because  it  is  true.  You  are  shut  up  here  in  your 
palaces.  You  are  reading  letters  from  consuls  and 
plenipotentiaries.  We  are  knocking  about  among  men 
who  speak  bad  English  and  buy  lean  cattle  to  fatten 
them."  And  he  paused  again. 

"  Yes  ?"  said  the  secretary,  uneasily. 

"  And— in  a  word,"  said  the  editor.  "  Charles — I 
wish — well — I  hate  to  say  it — I  wish  you  would  cut  off 
your  snapper  at  the  end.  It  is  good  as  gold.  It  is 
better.  It  is  perfect  as  repartee.  It  is  threat  without 
threatening.  But  it  is  threat  all  the  same.  Charles, 
the  country  will  not  back  you  in  it." 

"  Fudge !" 

"  Charles,  I  know  the  country.  This  country  is  not 
prepared  for  that  war.  Those  ten  lines  mean  war — 
and  will  make  war.  This  country  will  cheer  you  at 
the  beginning,  and  abandon  you — as  sure  as  you  live. 
Say  to  your  chief  that  I  say  so." 

"  You  want  me  to  cut  off  my  perfect  conclusion  ?" 

"  Yes.     And  you  had  rather  cut  off  your  left  hand." 

"  Of  course  I  had,"  said  the  secretary.  "  John,  it  is 
the  only  passage  which  I  care  a  penny  for  in  the  de 
spatch." 

"  I  knew  you  would  say  so." 

The  great  man  walked  up  and  down  his  office  three 
times.  Mr.  Gillott  still  copied  on  the  instructions.  No 
one  said  anything. 

Then  the  secretary  came  to  the  writing-table,  and 
drew  two  broad  strokes  of  a  pen  across  the  offending 
passage.  He  rang  and  ordered  his  carriage.  "  I 


ONE    GOOD    TURN 

will  take  it  to  the  chief.     You  have  conquered,  Gali 
lean  !" 

But  neither  of  them  smiled,  even.  They  almost 
crushed  each  other's  hands  as  they  parted.  The  editor 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  went  to  his  breakfast. 


Bearers  of  despatches  travel  quickly,  and  in  a  very 
few  days  this  critical  despatch  was  read  in  the  chan 
celleries  of  both  of  the  sovereigns  to  whom  it  was  ad 
dressed.  There  was  a  little  sovereign  and  a  great 
sovereign.  The  little  sovereign  would  wait  to  do  what 
the  great  sovereign  bade  him  ;  and  the  great  sovereign 
would  do  what  his  great  chancellor  advised  him. 

The  great  chancellor  bade  his  man  Friday  read  the 
Marcy  despatch  aloud  to  him,  which  he  did.  The  great 
chancellor  then  sent  the  man  Friday  to  bed,  and  read 
it  again  and  again  himself,  before  he  followed  the 
man  Friday's  example.  The  next  morning,  over  his 
coffee,  he  read  it  again.  He  then  summoned  the  Field- 
Marshal  Julius  and  the  Secretary  of  the  Admiralty, 
whose  name  was  Nearchus,  and  he  said :  "  Gentle 
men,  you  may  give  holidays  to  your  people.  This 
breeze  has  blown  over."  And  when  they  both  seemed 
surprised — for  their  departments  had  been  at  work  day 
and  night  for  weeks — the  great  chancellor  said :  "  Be 
tween  ourselves,  gentlemen,  we  must  not  fight  till  we 
have  a  better  case.  These  people  yonder  put  the  thing 
so  well  that  all  Europe  and  all  the  neutral  powers 
will  be  with  them ;  and  I  do  not  mind  saying  to  you. 


34 

our  friends  of  the  opposition  would  handle  us  badly 
at  home.  Now,  if  they  had  bragged  never  so  lit 
tle,  if  I  could  appeal  to  wounded  pride  or  national 
honor,  could  say  they  had  insulted  us,  that  would  be 
one  thing,  and  we  would  gladly  send  you  gentlemen  to 
blow  them  all  out  of  the  water  or  into  the  land.  But 
as  it  is — well,  I  suppose  it  is  as  well.  The  truth  is, 
their  paper  is  better  than  our  paper.  Jove !  gentle 
men,  it  is  as  calm  as  the  New  Testament."  They 
waited  a  minute  more,  and  he  smiled  and  nodded  : 
"  That  is  all,  gentlemen ;  there  will  be  no  war." 

When  the  Recording  Angel  wrote  that  down  in  his 
shorthand  he  smiled  that  queer  smile  again,  and  he 
said  to  himself :  "  That  is  pretty  well  for  Helen  Mel- 
cher's  good-natured  self-sacrifice." 


VI 

We  must  not  forget  John  Orcutt. 

John  Orcutt  was  too  unimaginative  a  person  to  be 
surprised  much  at  anything.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
office  of  To-day  which,  sooner  or  later,  he  had  not  done. 
In  his  time  he  had  swept  the  floor,  he  had  watered  it 
with  a  water-pot,  he  had  set  type,  he  had  unfolded 
newspapers  from  the  mail.  He  had  folded  other  news 
papers.  He  had  made  out  bills  and  he  had  collected 
them.  Also  he  had  failed  to  collect  them.  He  had 
written  book  notices  and  theatre  notices,  and  critiques 
on  Wagner's  music.  He  had  reported  a  baseball  match 
in  the  afternoon,  and  with  the  same  pen  a  discussion  on 
predestination  in  the  evening.  He  had  eaten  good  din- 


ONE   GOOD   TURN  35 

ners  with  the  political  clubs,  and  he  had  returned  from 
them  to  write  a  notice  of  Browning's  last  poem.  He 
had  been  "responsible"  before  now;  and  as  nothing 
surprised  him,  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  himself  u  re 
sponsible"  again.  While  he  had  been  discharging  his 
other  offices  the  chief  had  been  "  responsible." 

John  Orcutt  now  thought  he  would  take  the  comfort 
of  being  "responsible."  The  chiefs  office  was  much 
larger  than  the  little  cell  which  he  usually  occupied. 
That  was  one  comfort.  At  his  side  were  the  choicest 
English  and  French  and  German  papers.  While  he  sat, 
the  grave,  pale  little  boy,  who  opened  the  mails  and 
distributed  to  the  different  gentlemen  their  specialties, 
brought  in  fresh  copies  of  the  London  Spectator,  Le 
Nord,  Le  Temps,  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  and  the 
Journal  Officiel.  For  the  chief  liked  to  have  the  first  dip 
into  them.  And  so  John  Orcutt,  having,  for  a  wonder, 
no  inventors  to  hear  with  new  projects  for  the  enfran 
chisement  of  mankind,  put  a  pin  into  the  loose  sheets 
of  the  Journal  Officiel,  turned  to  the  non-official  part 
of  it  of  course,  and  began  to  cut  the  leaves.  He  saw  in 
a  moment  that  there  was  nothing  for  which  his  public 
cared.  But  there  was  a  curious  report  on  the  food  of 
infants,  presented  to  the  Academic  de  Medecine,  in 
Paris,  by  Leon  Broussais.  It  went  deep  into  detail, 
and  he  who  did  not  understand  before  about  goat's 
milk,  ass's  milk,  cow's  milk,  and  woman's  milk  did 
afterwards.  John  Orcutt  looked  through  the  details  in 
the  elaborate  tables,  put  the  whole  in  a  cover,  and  sent 
it  to  his  classmate,  Flanders.  Thirty-six  hours  after 
wards,  on  Sunday  morning,  he  found  this  note  on  his 
desk : 


36  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"DEAR  ORCUTT, — I  thank  you,  or,  reverently,  I  thank  the  good 
God,  for  your  Frenchman  and  his  report.  People  will  believe  a 
printed  scrap  from  Europe  when  they  will  not  listen  to  an  Angel  of 
Light  at  home.  Our  orphan  board  met — quarterly  meeting — at  noon 
to-day.  I  carried  Broussais's  paper,  and  I  utterly  floored  the  old 
fogies  with  it.  Dear  boy,  it  means  one  hundred  live  babies  this  sum 
mer,  cooing  and  playing  in  their  mothers'  arms,  instead  of  one  hun 
dred  little  crosses  over  mounds  in  the  cemetery.  I  cannot  thank 
you  enough.  Shall  I  send  back  the  paper  ? 

"  Yours  always,  W.  FLANDERS." 

When  the  Recording  Angel  entered  this  business  of 
the  hundred  babies  on  William  Flanders's  book,  he 
directed  two  of  his  assistants  to  make  cross-references 
to  that  entry  in  Helen  Melcher's  book  and  in  John 
Orcutt's,  and  he  smiled  with  that  queer  smile  of  his 
again. 


VII 

And,  to  go  back  again,  John  Orcutt  still  sat,  Friday 
night,  in  the  "  responsible  "  chair.  To  him  there  came 
in  the  chief  of  ship-news. 

"  It  is  not  our  affair,"  said  this  gentleman.  "  But 
clearly  this  complication  in  the  Marquesas  Islands  is 
not  understood  by  the  gentlemen  in  Babylon." 

Alas!  John  Orcutt  felt  that  he  did  not  understand 
it,  and  could  not.  But  he  did  what  a  responsible  editor 
should  do. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  You  can  leave  the  papers 
with  me." 

Now  there  was  among  the  young  men  who  did  "gen. 
eral  work "  —  reported  baseball  matches  to-day  and 
discussions  on  quaternions  to-morrow — one  serious  fel- 


ONE    GOOD   TURN  37 

low,  named  Pringle,  whom  John  Orcutt  liked.  He 
hardly  knew  why.  He  had  never  spoken  to  the  young 
fellow,  except  to  nod  as  they  met  in  the  wash-room. 
But  Pringle  was  always  at  his  desk  five  minutes  before 
he  had  to  be,  always  was  the  last  man  there  at  night, 
even  long  after  the  others  were  gone.  In  overlooking 
proof  one  week  Orcutt  had  noticed  that  Pringle's  copy 
was  always  clean,  and  he  knew  that  in  eighteen  months 
he  had  never  been  blown  up  for  a  lie  or  an  exaggera 
tion.  So,  as  soon  as  the  ship-news  chief  went  out,  John 
Orcutt  struck  his  bell,  and  sent  for  Mr.  Pringle. 

The  young  man  came,  amazed.  They  were  often 
sent  for  in  the  morning,  but  never  before  had  he  been 
in  the  chiefs  office  at  eleven  at  night. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Mr.  Pringle  ?"  asked  John. 

"  I  am  making  rather  a  curious  tabular  statement, 
from  my  own  notes,  comparing  the  number  of  catches 
on  the  fly  made  in  a  temperature  of  80°  against  those 
made  at  an  average  temperature  of  60°." 

"  Would  it  do  as  well  on  Monday,  or  is  any  one  else 
doing  the  same  thing?" 

Mr.  Pringle  was  quite  sure  no  one  else  was  doing  it. 
He  had  not  even  suggested  it  to  any  of  the  other  men, 
so  eager  was  he  that  To-day  only  should  have  the  glory 
of  the  discovery,  if  discovery  there  were.  In  the  slang 
of  the  office  he  called  the  glory  "  Kudos." 

"  Then  I  will  thank  you  to  take  those  letters  and 
papers,  which  Mr.  Atwood  has  left  me.  and  sift  out 
this  Fiji  and  Marquesas  business.  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  suspect  that  our  admiral  is  wrong.  I  do  not  know, 
but  I  think  that  there  is  no  French  admiral  there.  I 
do  know  that  the  Babylon  papers  are  wholly  wrong. 


38  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 

Have  the  goodness  to  look  up  the  international  law. 
Do  not  forget  the  cases  of  the  Wild -flyer  and  of 
the  Pilgrim,  which  are,  I  think,  the  leading  cases. 
Look  at  Porter's  account  of  his  occupation  of  Mar 
quesas.  Take  as  much  space  as  you  like,  but  be  sure 
that  we  are  right  and  not  wrong.  I  will  hold  back 
the  press  if  you  choose.  I  am  sorry  to  keep  you 
up." 

"  That  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  the  young  man, 
his  face  all  beaming  with  delight.  "  I  shall  have  four 
hours  clear." 

"And  I  think  no  one  will  interrupt  you,"  said  John 
Orcutt,  laughing.  "  Good-night." 

"  Good  -night,  sir."  And  the  happy  young  fellow 
took  away  the  papers. 

When  the  great  editor  returned  on  Monday  morn 
ing  he  drove  directly  to  John  Orcutt's  home.  It 
was  in  the  fifth  story  of  the  Wellington  Apartment 
Hotel. 

"  Mrs.  Orcutt,  I  am  sure  you  will  give  me  breakfast. 
Heaven  knows  what  I  might  find  at  my  quarters !  I 
want  to  talk  to  your  husband."  And  at  this  moment 
John  Orcutt  appeared. 

"John,  I  was  just  in  time.  They  hated  me,  but  they 
listened.  They  had  not  looked  at  my  telegram,  had 
not  even  lighted  their  pipes  with  it.  John,  we  saved 
them  from  the  greatest  blunder  they  have  made  yet. 
And  to  say  that  is  to  say  a  great  deal,  as  you  know. 
But  all  is  well  that  ends  well.  They  are  saved  ;  the 
country  is  saved ;  nay,  the  world  is  saved,  till  some 
body  somewhere  makes  another  blunder.  We  will 


ONE    GOOD    TUKN  39 

try  to  forget  this  one.  Now  I  want  to  talk  about 
ourselves.  I  bought  our  paper  Sunday  as  I  crossed 
the  ferry.  Who  wrote  our  leader  on  this  island 
row  ?" 

The  chiefs  manner  was  perfectly  impassive.  He 
broke  his  egg  without  the  least  feeling.  Was  the 
leader  all  right  or  all  wrong?  John  Orcutt  had  not 
the  faintest  idea.  But  the  truth  must  be  told. 

"  Young  Mr.  Pringle  did  it,"  said  he.  "  I  told  him 
the  truth  must  be  found  and  stated,  and  I  gave  him 
four  hours  to  do  it." 

The  chief  looked  gravely  at  John  and  nodded.  In 
a  minute  he  said  :  "  I  knew  you  did  not  write  it,  nor 
L'Estrange,  nor  Walter,  nor  Webb.  Indeed,  I  did  not 
know  we  had  a  man  in  the  office  who  could  write  it. 
No,  nor  the  man  in  the  country.  I  knew  I  could 
not." 

John  Orcutt  was  well  pleased  to  find  that  the  arti 
cle  was  all  right.  He  had  feared,  indeed,  since  Satur 
day,  that  it  might  be  all  wrong. 

"What  do  you  say  his  name  is — Pringle?" 

"  Yes." 

"I  guess  his  father  was  in  the  law  school  in  my 
time.  Send  him  in  to  me  at  two  o'clock." 

At  two  o'clock  Mr.  Pringle  knocked  at  the  "re 
sponsible"  door.  He  knew  he  was  to  see  the  chief. 
Whether  he  were  to  be  dismissed  from  the  office  or 
not,  he  did  not  know. 

But  the  chief  even  rose  and  shook  hands.  "  Mr. 
Pringle,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed,  but  I  did  not  know  before  yesterday  how 


40  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

we  were  wasting  the  force  of  our  office.  I  think  it 
may  please  you  to  know  that  when  I  met  Chancellor 
Guilford  yesterday,  as  we  were  coming  out  of  church, 
he  asked  who  wrote  our  articles  on  international  law, 
and  he  said  that  he  should  read  your  paper  on  the 
'  Occupation  of  Eimatara  '  to  his  classes." 

Mr.  Pringle  blushed  and  stammered  out  his  thanks 
and  satisfaction. 

"  Do  you  read  German  ?v  continued  the  eager  chief. 

"  Of  course,  sir." 

"  Good.  Please  take  these  Vienna  papers,  and  this 
Rundschau — yes — and  somewhere  here — here  they  are 
—these  pamphlets,  and  look  up  for  us  this  man  Kohl- 
schutter's  discussion  of  Nationality.  I  thought  I 
should  have  to  do  it  myself.  I  suppose  he  is  a  son  of 
the  old  Kohlschutter,  or  maybe  grandson.  Take  all 
the  time  you  want.  Mr.  Orcutt  says  you  only  had 
four  hours  Friday  night." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  I  studied  that  matter  in  the  fore 
castle,  when  I  was  before  the  mast.'' 

"  Good  !"  said  the  chief  again.  "  Here  is  a  line  to 
Mr.  MeElrath.  He  will  fix  your  salary  for  the  present 
at  $2000.  I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Orcutt  about  your  work. 
Unless  you  wish,  you  will  do  no  more  baseball  at 
present.  Good-morning.  Come  round  when  you  can, 
and  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  wife.  You  had  bet 
ter  move  your  things  into  Mr.  What's -his -name's 
vacant  office;  next  Mr.  Orcutt's,  you  know.  Good- 
morning." 

Before  Edward  Pringle  moved  a  thing,  he  went  into 
the  empty  office  and  wrote  this  despatch  to  Mary 
Underwood ; 


ONE    GOOD    TURN  41 

"DEAR  MARY,— My  salary  is  raised  to  $2000.     Say  Thursday,  or 
Thursday  week.  EDWARD." 

And  she  telegraphed  back : 

"Thursday  week,  if  you  insist  upon  it.     Always  yours, 

"MARY." 


VIII 

When  the  Kecording  Angel  entered  this  last  cor 
respondence  he  bade  his  clerks  make  cross-references 
to  it  in  the  great  editor's  book  and  in  John  Orcutt's 
book,  but  he  asked  to  have  Helen  Melcher's  book 
brought  to  him,  that  he  might  make  the  entry  there 
with  his  own  hand. 

"  Somehow,"  said  the  Kecording  Angel,  with  that 
grave  smile  of  his,  "  I  am  more  glad  for  this  one  than 
I  am  for  all  the  others.  Wars  and  rumors  of  wars,  life 
and  death— yes— yes,  they  are  all  very  grand  and  very 
important ;  but  they  are  all  grand  and  important  only 
if  and  as  they  help  to  making  happy  homes. 

"And  how  good  it  is,"  he  said,  as  he  dipped  his  pen 
in  his  best  golden  ink,  "  that  when  that  sad  girl  did 
that  unselfish  thing  in  that  surgeon's  anteroom  she 
made  this  heaven  of  a  happy  home  for  Edward  Pringle 
and  Mary  Underwood,  not  for  time  only,  but  for  all 
eternity !" 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL 

WITH   FULL   PARTICULARS 

[THIS  curious  and  pathetic  story  has  been  told  by  Mr.  Hawthorne 
in  his  very  best  style.  It  is  now  classical  as  one  of  the  "  Twice-Told 
Tales."  I  would  not  undertake  to  tell  it  for  the  third  time  but  that 
I  do  not  believe  that  many  readers  have  seen  the  original  documents. 
Mr.  Hawthorne,  indeed,  carefully  keeps  them  out  of  sight,  and,  with 
his  love  of  mystery,  he  leaves  the  reader  to  guess  what  Mr.  Hooper's 
reasons  were  for  wearing  the  veil,  if,  indeed,  Mr.  Hawthorne  himself 
knew.  Now  the  truth  is  that  many  a  man  of  to-day,  particularly  as 
he  steps  into  a  street-car  or  enters  any  other  public  place  in  what  is 
called  our  modern  civilization,  wishes  he  had  a  veil  on.  Women 
have  this  resource,  and  avail  themselves  of  it — how  much  I  do  not 
know  ;  for,  of  course,  when  they  are  deeply  veiled  I  cannot  tell  who 
the}r  are.  The  only  men  I  ever  saw  with  veils  on  were.sojjne  work 
men  on  the  Lake  Superior  Canal.  They  said  they  wore  the  veils  to 
keep  off  the  mosquitoes.  But,  for  aught  I  know,  they  may  have 
all  been  retired  clergymen  earning  their  living  honestly,  and  their 
names  may  have  been  "Hooper."  But,  as  I  did  not  ask  them  their 
story,  we  will  let  them  pass,  and  go  back  to  our  own  version  of  the 
original  Parson  Hopper  and  his  Black  Veil.] 


Mr.  Hooper  woke  one  morning  after  a  broken  sleep. 
He  was  more  silent  at  breakfast  than  was  bis  babit. 
Mrs.  Hooper  saw  this,  and  she  knew  tbe  reason.  Sbe 
had  seen  it  while  be  dressed  himself,  and  she  knew  the 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL  43 

reason  then.  But  all  her  comment  was  to  hurry  into 
her  kitchen  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  and  take  in  her 
own  hand  a  certain  preparation  of  egg  on  toast  which 
he  was  fond  of.  "If  he  is  worried, -he  shall  have  his 
egg,"  said  the  good  woman  to  herself.  And  Mr. 
Hooper  had  it,  and  ate  it  all,  and  thanked  her  for  it. 
But  he  talked  little  at  breakfast,  and  Mrs.  Hooper 
knew  why. 

A  messenger  had  come  from  her  brother  the  night 
before  to  say  that  Plinlimmon  would  sail  on  Thursday, 
if  the  wind  served,  for  England.  Now  Plinlimmon  was 
to  take  in  his  ship  the  return  which  Parson  Hooper 
was  to  make  for  the  last  year's  purchases  in  London— 
for  the  silk  dress,  the  silk  stockings,  the  muslin  neckties, 
the  books,  the  gamboge  and  senna  and  other  medicines. 
Mrs.  Hooper's  cousin  Avery  had  made  and  sent  out  the 
selection,  and  had  bidden  Mr.  Hooper  send  the  returns 
in  mink  or  beaver,  clapboards,  sassafras,  and  gold 
thread.  But,  of  course,  he  had  left  it  to  Mr.  Hooper's 
judgment  how  much  or  how  little  of  each  of  these 
various  staples  should  be  intrusted  Plinlimmon.  And 
here  was  the  great  decision  to  be  made  to-day.  Poor 
Mr.  Hooper  must  find  oat  how  much  gold-thread  there 
was  on  sale,  and  how  much  sassafras,  and  the  rest.  He 
must  take  final  advice  with  her  brother  and  the  other 
merchants,  and  so  do  the  best  possible  thing  for  her 
cousin  Avery.  Mrs.  Hooper  knew  too  well  that  she 
must  not  oppose  him.  She  had  suggested  that  he  should 
leave  the  whole  affair  to  her  brother,  and  Mr.  Hooper 
had  said  "  No."  She  could  not  understand,  he  had  said, 
but  it  was  one  of  those  personal  things  which  he  must 
determine. 


44  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

So  he  left  her,  with  his  brow  clouded.  He  had  called 
her  attention  to  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  rise  in  the 
price  of  gold-thread.  He  had  asked  her  whether  she 
had  heard  from  "the  Indian"  anything  about  the  num 
ber  of  minks  killed  last  winter.  So  far  he  had  confided 
in  her.  But  only  so  far.  And  she  knew  that  he  went, 
in  perplexity,  to  a  disagreeable  morning. 

But  if  Mr.  Hooper  was  depressed  when  he  left 
home,  he  was  more  depressed  when  he  returned.  Yet 
his  brother-in-law  had  been  most  kind.  He  had  ready 
for  him,  in  the  little  counting-room,  notes  of  the  pieces 
of  all  the  various  articles  which  the  Averys  had  sug 
gested  for  shipment.  He  had  given  his  own  advice. 
He  had  consulted  with  neighbors ;  and  as  Mr.  Glover, 
the  brother-in-law,  was  one  of  the  largest  merchants, 
and  as  Mr.  Hooper's  and  Avery's  little  venture  was  one 
of  the  smallest,  even  Mr.  Hooper  felt  that  all  possible 
care  had  been  given  as  to  the  grounds  for  his  decision. 
And  he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  determine  that  twelve 
hundred  cedar  clapboards,  of  a  fashion  that  had  found 
favor  in  London,  should  be  that  day  packed  away  in 
the  recesses  of  the  hold  of  Plinlimmon's  vessel.  For 
the  rest,  he  had  told  Mr.  Glover  he  would  decide. 

And  so  he  had  started  to  walk  home,  and  to  make 
his  decision  on  the  way.  Then  it  was  that  misfortune 
began.  For,  just  as  he  crossed  from  the  counting-room 
to  the  more  quiet  side  of  the  street,  that  he  might  med 
itate  undisturbed,  excellent  Madam  Cockrell  had  seen 
him,  and  had  borne  down  on  him. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Hooper,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  I  am 
so  taken  up  to-day,  and  so  busy  with  Kuth  and  Eunice 
and  all  the  girls.  You  do  not  know,  indeed,  that  Kuth 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL  45 

is  to  go  to  Biddeford  with  Chauncy,  and  not  a  thing 
ready !  I  said  to  ray  husband  that  I  did  not  see  how  I 
could  go  and  see  your  wife,  and  he  did  not  seem  to 
think  that  he  could  go.  But  now  I  have  caught  you  ;  it 
is  so  lucky,  and  you  will  do  just  as  well.  Will  you  tell 
Mrs.  Hooper  that  I  have  seen  Dinah,  and  that  Dinah 
says  that  if  she  will  give  her  up  Monday  afternoon,  so 
that  she  can  go  up  to  the  Tetlows  then  and  kind  of 
finish  off  their  washing — she  can  stop  for  me  half  an 
hour  earlier  on  Tuesday,  and  then  be  at  your  house  by 
eleven.  Or,  if  you  must  have  her  Monday,  and  will  let 
her  know  by  Silas  when  he  passes  by,  then  she  will  see 
Miriam  at  Judge  Lee's,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  Mr.  Hoop 
er  could  not  repeat  more  of  the  message,  far  less  Mrs. 
Hooper,  and  least  of  all  this  chronicler. 

"  She  said  she  had  caught  me,"  said  the  poor  minis 
ter.  "  How  often  they  say  that !  As  if  I  were  escaping 
from  my  keepers.  She  '  caught  me,'  indeed,  and  after 
she  had  walked  half-way  home  with  me  without  her 
hood  on,  and  I  tried  to  think  out  about  the  gold-thread 
and  the  sassafras — my  dear,  I  believe  I  am  going  crazy. 
I  was  all  confused  whether  your  brother  said  ten  or  ten 
dozen.  I  do  not  know,  and  I  know  he  wants  to  know 
in  the  morning." 

Poor  Mrs.  Hooper  did  what  she  had  done  hundreds 
of  times  before  in  similar  catastrophes.  She  sympa 
thized,  soothed,  and  wondered.  She  led  back  to  the 
success  about  the  clapboards.  Privately  she  despatched 
Gotham,  who  was  chopping  wood,  with  a  note  to  her 
brother.  And,  before  Mr.  Hooper  had  finished  the  egg 
and  wine  she  had  hastily  beaten  up  for  him,  lest  he 
should  be  chilled  by  his  walk,  a  note  from  the  wharf 


46  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

supplied,  in  black  and  white,  the  necessary  information. 
And,  in  the  secret  silence  of  the  study,  Parson  Hooper 
recomposed  himself  as  he  could  to  the  unusual  and  dis 
agreeable  calculation.  What  his  brother  Glover  would 
have  done  in  five  minutes  this  excellent  man  wasted  a 
day  upon,  and  even  then  was  sure  that  he  did  not  do  it 
well,  because  Mrs.  Cockrell  had  "caught  him."  Not 
even  when  Avery's  letters  arrived,  eight  months  after, 
and  expressed  even  enthusiasm  about  the  success  of  the 
venture,  was  Parson  Hooper  wholly  soothed. 


II 

To  persons  unused  to  ministerial  life  in  New  Eng 
land  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  it  will  seem 
that  no  such  misfortune  could  happen  again  to  Parson 
Hooper  within  a  year.  But  that  is  because  they  are 
unused  to  it.  His  wife  could  tell  them  better.  The 
very  next  day — it  was  Wednesday — the  good  man  told 
his  wife  that  he  should  give  the  morning  to  the  Gold- 
thwaites  at  the  mills.  The  troubles  of  the  Gold- 
thwaites  were  :  1,  bodily,  in  that  the}'  were  poor ;  2, 
mental,  in  that  they  knew  not  what  to  do ;  3,  spirit 
ual,  in  that  each  one  had  quarrelled  with  each  other 
of  the  whole  clan  of  Goldthwaites.  On  Parson  Hoop 
er,  as  the  clear-headed,  sound  adviser  and  peace 
maker  of  the  whole  town,  devolved  the  solution  of 
all  problems  and  the  reunion  of  the  broken  fam 
ily.  And  to  this  work  he  gave  up  Wednesday,  and 
went  forth  as  cheerfully  as  Amadis  ever  went  to 
battle : 


47 


"  Lo  !  he  returned  all  wounded  and  forlorn, 
His  dream  of  glory  lost  in  shades  of  night." 

To  Mrs.  Hooper,  and  to  her  alone,  he  told  the  story 
of  his  discomfiture. 

He  had  seen  Seth  Goldthwaite  alone.  That  was 
necessary.  And  no  one  knew  he  had  come  in.  lie 
had  seen  old  grandsire  Tetlow,  who  had  married  the 
widow  Goldthwaite.  This  visit  also  was  secret,  as  if 
he  had  been  Nicodemus.  He  had  seen  Lucas  and  Phi 
lemon  as  they  were  hewing  the  timbers  for  their  new 
barn.  Then  he  had  left  them  to  "  cross  lots,"  by  par 
donable  guile.  For  both  these  "  contrary"  men  be 
lieved  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  school  at  the 
Falls,  and  he  did  not  undeceive  them.  His  visit  to 
Fairfax  Shiprnan,  who  had  married  Eachel  Gold 
thwaite,  must  be  as  secret  as  the  dew  from  heaven, 
and  none  this  side  the  Eecording  Angel  must  know 
he  took  to  her  ten  pieces  of  eight  and  a  joe  from 
Mother  Tetlow. 

"And  I  went  by  the  quarry,  and  just  as  I  had  to 
cross  the  country  road,  of  all  men  in  the  world  the 
doctor  appeared  in  his  gig.  Of  course  he  knew  me. 
Of  course  he  guessed  I  was  going  to  the  school.  I 
must  ride.  He  would  stop  and  bring  me  home.  My 
dear  Mary,  if  I  had  lisped  a  word  about  Eachel  Ship- 
man  it  would  have  gone  over  the  town.  So  I  had  to 
go  with  him.  I  have  been  at  the  Falls  since  noon. 
The  doctor  has  brought  me  home,  and  here  I  am, 
with  poor  Eachel's  money  in  my  pocket.  My  dear 
Mary,  I  wished  for  the  invisible  hat  of  Jack  the  Giant- 
killer  !" 


48  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

And  in  this  grievous  wail  of  the  good  man  the  first 
suggestion  of  the  veil  came  in. 

Before  it  was  light  the  next  morning  he  had  saddled 
the  bay  mare.  And  before  the  sun  rose  Rachel  Ship- 
man  had  her  money. 


Ill 

But  the  week  was  not  ended.  No,  indeed.  "The 
end  is  not  yet,"  as  good  Parson  Hooper  would  have 
said.  In  the  long  ride  to  Mr.  Shipman's  in  the  gray 
of  the  morning  he  had  studied  over  his  sermons  as  best 
he  might,  and  in  the  ride  back  again  he  had  gone  over 
the  order  of  the  argument  again.  But  the  whole  was 
hazy,  and  he  knew  it  was.  All  intermingled  with  the 
logical  flow  of  predestination  and  free-will,  sanctih'ca- 
tion  and  duty,  came  in  the  refrain  of  poor  Mrs.  Ship 
man's  entreating  words  as  she  stood  on  the  doorstep 
and  whispered  them  in  his  ear.  It  was  a  long  dis 
tance,  and  of  course  he  was  late  to  his  breakfast  after 
he  returned.  Then  he  told  his  wife  the  whole  story. 
And  now  he  could  go  into  the  study  and  begin  his 
notes  for  a  brief  of  the  sermons.  But  his  mind  would 
not  work  well.  The  Goldthwaites  and  the  Shipmans 
and  the  Tetlowrs,  and  all  their  gossip,  would  interfere 
with  the  argument.  The  good  man  put  on  his  hat  and 
boots,  stopped  at  the  dairy  door  to  tell  his  wife  that 
he  was  going  to  walk  in  the  cedar  pasture,  so  as  to 
think  out  the  sermons  in  the  open  air,  and  jumped 
lightly  over  the  fence  into  the  orchard  on  his  way 
thither. 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL  49 

Better  for  him  had  he  taken  the  longer  way ;  for, 
as  he  passed  through  the  orchard,  Nick  Tainter  saw 
him  and  joined  him  instantly. 

"So  glad  to  find  you,  Parson!  Didn't  dare  go  in! 
Miss  Hooper  said  you  was  busy  writin',  V  I  thought 
I  must  wait  tell  ye  come  out.  All  night  I've  been 
thinkin'  'about  it,  V  I  knew  I  must  come  V  ask  ye. 
Now,  tell  me,  Parson,  ef  Solomon's  Temple  hed  a 
nethermost  chamber  five  cubits  high,  en  the  middle 
chamber  was  six  cubits  broad,  en  the  third  chamber 
was  seven  cubits  broad,  how  would  them  priests  and 
Levites  turn  round?"  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  in  that  strangest 
and  saddest  of  half  coherency  and  half  folly  in  which 
the  mathematical  mind  of  New  England  is  so  apt  to 
give  way. 

Poor  Parson  Hooper !  he  knew  the  morning  was 
gone  for  him  now.  How  often  the  poor  man  had  said 
that  here  was  the  one  point  where  his  dear  Saviour's 
example  failed  him !  "  He  could  cure  these  poor,  crazy 
people,"  the  good  parson  said,  "and  I  can't."  Still  he 
was  willing  to  do  his  part.  He  could  always  soothe, 
and  he  would  always  soothe.  How  much  time  or  how 
little  he  ought  to  give  to  them  and  their  vagaries  he 
could  never  decide.  And  yet  he  could  never  bring 
himself  to  accept  the  more  trenchant  views  of  Mrs. 
Hooper — into  which  discussion  this  story  need  not  go. 
Enough  to  say  that  the  brief  of  the  sermons  was  more 
hazy  than  ever,  and  was  intermixed  now  with  the  di 
mensions  of  the  nethermost  chamber.  And  to-morrow 
would  be  Friday.  In  a  working  minister's  life,  most 
days  are. 

When  dinner  came,  Nick  Tainter  was  provided  with 


50  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

a  bit  of  pie  and  cheese  to  walk  home  with,  and  told  to 
read  carefully  the  books  of  Chronicles,  and  good  Mr. 
Hooper,  still  perplexed,  but  ready  to  see  the  droll  side 
of  the  adventure,  joined  the  family  at  their  meal. 
Here  was  a  new  element.  His  wife's  pretty  sister, 
Martha  Glover,  had  come  down  from  Boston.  She  had 
been  expected,  but  not  expected  so  soon.  She  was  a 
pet  with  the  parson,  as  she  was,  indeed,  with  all  the 
household.  And  the  blackest  clouds  of  Goldthwaites 
or  of  Tainters  vanished  before  her  sunshine. 

By  the  time  they  came  to  the  dumplings,  Mr.  Hooper 
was  in  his  best  mood,  and,  with  all  his  latent  fun,  and 
with  infinite  kindness  as  well,  he  told  the  story  of  poor 
Nick's  troubles  about  the  nethermost  chamber,  and  of 
his  own  crafty  and  ingenious  solutions.  But  then  his 
face  clouded  a  little,  and  he  said,  sadly  enough  :  "  It  is 
all  well  enough  to  laugh  at,  but  what  will  become  of 
my  sermons  ?  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know."  And  so  he 
told,  in  a  humorous  vein,  and  not  as  seriously  as  I  have 
told  it,  the  history  of  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  and 
Thursday:  how  Mrs.  Cockrell  had  "caught  him,"  how 
the  doctor  had  insisted  on  his  riding,  and  now  how 
poor  Nick  had  recognized  him  the  moment  he  leaped 
the  fence.  Indeed,  if  he  had  not  told  the  story,  you 
would  not  be  reading  it  now. 

"My  dear  brother  Oliver,"  said  the  laughing  girl, 
"  you  must  do  as  I  do.  You  must  wear  a  veil.  You  are 
too  attractive  by  half  to  all  these  people.  Now,  what 
do  I  do  when  I  want  a  bit  of  ribbon,  or  some  buttons, 
or  some  muslin,  early  in  the  morning  before  I  am 
dressed  in  a  walking -dress,  you  know  —  when  I  just 
want  to  run  into  Cornhill  and  out  again  ?  Why,  I  put 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL  51 

on  a  veil !  If  I  meet  anybody,  he  thinks  it  is  the  Gov 
ernor's  cook  or  one  of  Judge  Sewall's  maids.  I  get 
my  buttons,  and  nobody  is  the  wiser.  I  might  be  a 
squaw,  and  nobody  would  know."  And  they  all  laughed 
at  the  conceit,  which  supposed  that  the  light,  merry 
girl  should  not  be  recognized  anywhere.  But  she  was 
pleased  with  her  fancy,  and  she  followed  it  out  into  its 
details.  And  she  made  the  parson  and  Mrs.  Hooper, 
and  even  little  Deborah  Hooper,  discuss  the  color  of 
the  veil — whether  it  should  be  white,  or  light  blue, 
or  dark  blue,  or  green,  or  purple.  But  Parson  Hooper 
said  that  he  wouldn't  have  it  green,  because  his  eyes 
were  strong  and  good ;  and  as  for  white,  he  thought  it 
was  unbecoming.  "  As  to  that,"  the  merry  girl  said, 
"  no  one  could  tell  until  they  had  tried." 

She  was  sure,  she  said,  that  she  could  find  muslin  or 
some  sleazy  stuff  in  her  sister's  boxes  or  drawers,  and 
that  afternoon  she  should  put  a  veil  in  every  hat  in 
the  house.  And  so  she  did.  While  the  parson,  in  the 
quiet  of  his  own  den  that  afternoon,  took  a  long  nap, 
and  then  addressed  himself  to  the  mysteries  of  predes 
tination  again,  Miss  Martha  captured  every  hat  in  the 
house.  In  one  she  sewed  a  white  veil,  in  one  a  green, 
in  one  a  light  blue,  and  in  one  a  very  dark  blue.  She 
could  find  no  purple  muslin,  and  so  had  to  give  up  that 
fancy.  But  she  revenged  herself  by  putting  in  one  a 
veil  of  cherry  color. 

She  was  wild  to  try  the  experiment,  and  a  little  be 
fore  sunset  she  tapped  at  his  door  and  said  he  must 
come  to  walk  with  her.  The  good  man  did  as  he  was 
bid  ;  and,  to  her  infinite  joy,  as  he  took  the  first  hat 
which  offered,  carrying  it  absently  in  his  hand  till  they 


52  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

had  crossed  the  door-yard,  he  did  not  notice  the  pink 
veil  till,  when  the  hat  was  fairly  on  his  head,  it  fell  be 
fore  his  eyes. 

The  girl  screamed  with  delight  at  her  success.  And, 
when  he  fell  in  with  her  humor,  and  walked  on  with 
the  veil ;  when  even  the  two  old  cows,  waiting  to  be 
milked,  turned  with  horror  and  fled  when  they  saw 
him,  she  clapped  her  hands  with  delight  and  did  not  pre 
tend  to  suppress  her  shouts  of  laughter.  A  jolly  walk, 
indeed,  they  both  had  of  it,  and  when  they  came  back 
to  supper  it  would  be  hard  to  say  which  of  them  made 
the  more  absurd  and  amusing  story  from  the  adventure. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  sister,  you  must  let  him  do  it !  In 
deed,  my  dear  Oliver,  you  must  wear  one  or  the  other 
of  them  always,  whenever  you  go  abroad,  if  it  \vere 
only  for  the  love  of  me !  When  Mrs.  Cockrell  sees  you 
she  will  say,  '  That  man  looks  just  like  our  dear  Mr. 
Hooper;  but  it  isn't  he, because  Mr.  Hooper  never  wears 
a  veil.'  And  when  the  doctor  sees  you  he  will  say, 
'Umph  !  there's  one  of  Pyecroft's  patients ;  the  old  fool 
has  made  him  wear  a  veil !'  and  you,  my  dear  Oliver, 
you  will  be  the  happiest  of  men.  Your  sermons  will 
be  perfectly  magnificent,  and  every  day  you  will  bless 
your  wise  little  sister  Martha." 


IV 

And  so  it  proved,  indeed,  that  the  minister's  Saturday 
was  tranquil  and  happy.  Not  that  anybody  saw  him 
with  a  veil  on,  always  excepting  Jotham,  who  saw 
everything  that  went  and  came.  And  Jotham  asked 


58 

no  questions.  Why  should  he  ask  questions  ?  There 
were  many  things  in  that  house,  from  Hebrew  down 
and  from  Marlborough  pies  up,  which  he  did  not  under 
stand.  Possibly  the  presence  in  the  house  of  a  cheery, 
wide-awake  sister  Martha,  determined  to  make  the  best 
of  everything,  had  its  part  in  the  improvement  of 
the  minister's  spirits.  He  had  his  quiet  morning  in 
his  study.  He  had  his  lonely  walk  in  the  afternoon 
among  the  cedars ;  and,  to  amuse  Martha,  when  he 
went  out,  he  let  the  rose-colored  veil  fall  over  his  face. 
And  for  half  an  hour  he  forgot  it,  as  he  wove  back 
and  forward  that  web  of  foreknowledge  into  which 
were  wrought  the  patterns  drawn  from  the  Gold- 
thwaites'  quarrels.  And  as  he  came  home  in  the  even 
ing,  with  the  sermon  well  thought  out,  he  dropped  the 
veil  again  as  he  crossed  the  orchard,  so  that  he  might 
please  the  laughing  girl  who  awaited  his  return. 

Martha  hardly  knew  one  hat  from  another,  certainly 
did  not  care,  as  she  stitched  the  veils  into  the  linings. 
But  Mrs.  Hooper  knew  very  well  which  was  the  Sun 
day  hat ;  and  when  she  and  Martha  started  for  meeting 
together  in  the  chaise  on  the  Sabbath  morning  she  left 
the  Sunday  hat,  carefully  brushed,  in  full  sight  of  her 
husband,  and  secreted  all  the  others.  Now  this  hat, 
as  the  powers  ordered,  was  the  hat  with  the  dark-blue 
veil.  Mr.  Hooper  always  preferred  to  walk  to  meeting 
alone.  Indeed,  if  he  could  start  an  hour  before  the 
rest,  and  carry  a  crumb  of  comfort  to  some  wretched 
home,  he  said  that  was  his  best  preparation.  But  this 
time  he  followed  hard  after  the  party  in  the  chaise.  Of 
course,  he  had  folded  the  veil  back  so  that  it  rested 
above  his  head,  nor  did  any  one  suspect  that  it  was 


54  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

there.  But  as  he  walked  alone  and  shook  out  again 
that  web  work  of  foreknowledge  on  which  he  was  to 
preach,  again  the  phantoms  of  the  Goldthwaites'  lives 
ran  across  his  thought ;  and  as,  in  his  puzzle,  he  tried 
to  wripe  the  furrows  from  his  forehead,  unconsciously 
for  a  moment  he  lifted  the  hat  from  his  head.  It  was 
but  a  moment,  and  when  he  put  it  back  the  blue  veil 
fell  and  floated  before  his  eyes.  It  did  screen  out  the 
sun.  It  screened  off  the  dust  of  the  road.  His  puzzled 
thoughts  did  flow  more  smoothly  for  the  moment.  He 
would  not  break  that  flow  for  the  world,  and  he  let 
the  veil  hang.  It  was  at  that  moment  that  Jotham 
Lee  passed  him,  as  he  paced  along  so  slowly  and 
thoughtfully.  It  was  he  who  announced,  as  Mr.  Haw 
thorne  has  told,  to  the  wondering  loafers  on  the  steps 
of  the  meeting-house  that  "the  minister  was  wearing 
a  veil." 

Meanwhile  the  bell  slowly  tolled.  It  would  have 
tolled  all  day  if  the  minister  had  not  come.  Mr. 
Hooper  did  walk  slowly.  The  veil  soothed  him  more 
than  he  knew.  And  even  when  he  approached  the 
group  of  those  waiting  for  him  he  did  not  know  how 
late  he  was.  Indeed,  he  was  roused  from  this  thought 
only  by  a  coarse  oath  of  that  brute,  Cephas  Gold- 
thwaite,  who  said,  as  if  half  daring  the  minister  to 
hear : 

"  Ef  he  would  wear  that  rag  into  meetin',  I'd  go  in 
an'  hear  him,  'n'  I  have  not  been  into  meetin'  twelve 
months  to-day." 

Parson  Hooper  turned  on  the  brute,  took  off  his  hat, 
and  looked  at  him,  with  a  look  of  love  which  might 
have  softened  a  stone. 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL  55 

"  Go  in  then,  Cephas,  with  your  wife,  and  I  will  Avear 
the  rag,  as  you  say." 

He  tore  the  lining  out  upon  the  instant,  adjusted  the 
veil  over  his  eyes,  and,  as  'the  hushed  assembly  stood 
on  both  sides,  bowing  as  he  passed,  he  bowed  to  the 
right  and  left,  and,  with  the  mysterious  veil  upon  his 
face,  mounted  the  pulpit  stairs. 

Mr.  Hawthorne  seems  to  have  confounded  two  tra 
ditions  of  Mr.  Hooper's  life  in  the  earlier  part  of  his 
story.  But  when  we  come  to  the  scene  in  church,  all 
the  traditions  are  at  one.  "  That  mysterious  emblem 
was  never  once  withdrawn.  It  shook  with  his  meas 
ured  breath  as  he  gave  out  the  psalm  ;  it  threw  its  ob 
scurity  between  him  and  the  holy  page  as  he  read  the 
Scriptures  ;  and  while  he  prayed  the  veil  lay  heavily 
upon  his  uplifted  countenance. 

"There  was  something  which  made  the  sermon  great 
ly  the  most  powerful  effort  that  they  had  ever  heard 
from  their  pastor's  lips.  The  subject  had  reference 
to  secret  sin,  and  those  sad  mysteries  which  we  hide 
from  our  nearest  and  dearest  and  would  fain  conceal 
from  our  own  consciousness,  even  forgetting  that  the 
Omniscient  can  detect  them.  A  subtle  power  was 
breathed  into  his  words." 

When  Mr.  Hawthorne  goes  on  to  say  "  that  the  man 
of  hardened  breast "  listened  now  as  never  before,  he 
recalls  the  memory  of  that  brutal  Cephas  Goldthwaite, 
who  had  dared  the  minister  to  wear  the  veil.  And  well 
may  that  memory  be  renewed  from  that  day  to  this 
day.  It  was  Cephas  Goldthwaite  to  whom  Mr.  Hooper 
was  speaking;  it  was  for  Cephas  Goldthwaite  that  he 
prayed  with  his  veiled  face  turned  up  to  heaven ;  it 


56  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

was  the  certainty  of  what  was  hidden  in  Cephas  Gold- 
thwaite's  life  which  gave  the  dramatic  power  to  the 
story  of  David  as  he  read.  And  if,  after  he  had  begun 
the  sermon,  the  puzzle  of  foreknowledge  all  drifted 
away  like  a  morning  cloud,  if  in  place  of  it  the  clear 
sunlight  of  the  Holy  Spirit  poured  down  and  lighted 
every  heart  in  that  amazed  multitude,  all  this  was  be 
cause  Parson  Hooper  had  determined  that  for  once 
Cephas  Goldthwaite  should  hear  the  truth  of  God,  if  no 
word  ever  spoke  to  him  again.  And  it  was  because  the 
Spirit,  thus  wooed  and  thus  won,  did  speak  to  Cephas 
Goldthwaite  as  he  sat  there  in  a  maze — because  of  this 
it  was  that  he  who  came  in  a  brute  wen.t  out  a  man. 
He  pressed  his  poor  wife's  hand  tenderly  before  he 
left  the  hard  form  which  was  the  seat  assigned  to 
them.  He  shook  his  brother's  hand  cordially,  as  from 
different  doors  they  met  upon  the  green — that  brother 
to  whom  he  had  not  spoken  since  his  father's  funeral. 
To  grandsire  Tetlow  as  he  passed  him  he  said  :  "  Send 
round  Nathan  for  a  barrel  of  apples  there  is  waiting"  ; 
and  as  he,  of  all  men,  lifted  Madam  Hooper  into  her 
chaise  he  said,  in  a  half-whisper :  "  Mistress  Hooper, 
do  you  tell  the  parson  that  this  day  he  has  saved  a 
soul  from  hell !" 

Well  might  the  people  in  that  town,  and  their  chil 
dren  to  Mr.  Hawthorne's  day,  say  that  the  preacher 
"had  discovered  their  hoarded  iniquity."  They  waited, 
of  course,  for  a  brief  interval  till  he  came  out,  the  last 
of  all.  "  He  paid  due  reverence  to  the  hoary  heads, 
saluted  the  middle-aged  with  kind  dignity  as  their 
friend  and  spiritual  guide,  greeted  the  young  with 
mingled  authority  and  love,  and  laid  his  hands  on  the 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL  57 

little  children's  heads  to  bless  them.  Such  was  always 
his  custom  on  the  Sabbath  day.  Strange  and  bewil 
dered  looks  repaid  him  for  his  courtesy." 

I  do  not  pretend  more  than  Mr.  Hawthorne  has 
done  to  give  the  exact  date,  or  place  of  this  strange  in 
cident,  in  which  was  bound  up  so  much  of  the  future  of 
that  man.  As  always  happens,  and  as  the  reader  sees, 
when  tradition  once  got  hold,  it  had  its  way.  First  of 
all,  the  dark- blue  veil — torn  from  one  which  had  once 
screened  Mrs.  Hooper's  eyes  in  snow-storms — became 
black  as  the  story  passed  from  generation  to  genera 
tion.  As  the  reader  has  seen,  Mr.  Hooper,  the  happy 
husband  of  a  cheerful  wife,  "  became  a  comely  bache 
lor  of  thirty."  He  never  chose  to  tell  why  he  wore 
the  veil  at  first ;  nor,  indeed,  to  tell  why  he  wore  it 
afterwards :  and  so  posterity  in  its  report  did  as  re 
porters  will,  and  made  a  mystery  of  shame  and  peni 
tence,  when  there  was  no  such  mystery  in  the  beginning. 
Mr.  Hooper  found  out  that  his  sister  Martha  was  right. 
If  his  veil  were  down,  he  could  pursue  a  train  of 
thought  without  being  asked  to  remember  the  appoint 
ments  of  a  washerwoman.  He  could  go  on  the  errands 
which  he  had  determined  instead  of  being  led  to  and 
fro  by  the  vagaries  of  wayfarers.  He  could  command 
his  own  time  for  the  service  of  God  and  man,  instead 
of  giving  it  up  to  chattering  with  loafers,  without  ap 
parent  rudeness ;  he  could  obey  that  great  instruction 
of  the  Master  to  his  disciples,  that  when  they  went  on 
his  imperial  mission  they  should  not  stop  on  the  way 
to  salute  vagrants.  "  Salute  no  man  by  the  way,"  he 
would  say,  seriously,  to  his  wife  when  she  asked  him, 
cautiously,  whether  he  had  better  wear  his  veil  on  such 


58  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

or  such  an  errand.    If  he  did  wear  it,  she  was  sure  that 
he  went  on  the  Master's  service. 

Little  wonder  that  the  good  man's  life  became  more 
and  more  serene.  Little  wonder  if  his  real  cheerful 
ness  were  more  and  more  tender.  Little  wonder  if 
men  and  women  with  whom  he  talked  found  his  words 
were  more  weighty  and  his  counsel  more  sure.  It  was 
no  vain  thing  for  him  to  take  up  one  of  the  threads 
spun  by  the  Eternal  Wheels,  as  they  move  in  infinite 
certainty,  and  to  weave  that  thread  into  the  pattern  of 
such  a  life  as  a  Goldthwaite  or  a  Tetlow  was  living. 
No  foolish  interruption  tangled  the  thread  or  broke  it. 
It  came  to  be  an  easy  thing  that  the  clear  mirror 
of  the  good  man's  thought  reflected  directly  the  ray 
which  fell  upon  it  from  the  Sun  of  Righteousness.  No 
hammer  of  Thor  broke  that  mirror  ruthlessly.  It  was 
left  as  the  God  of  Heaven  made  it.  Why  multiply 
words?  The  good  man's  eye  was  single  now.  And 
from  this  Sunday  all  that  men  saw  of  him  was  full  of 
Light. 


AUNT   CAROLINE'S   PRESENT 

I. — NOW    WE    SHALL    KNOW 

YES.     We  were  really  married. 

The  minister  had  said  we  were  one,  and  he  had 
given  us  his  blessing.  He  had  taken  my  hand,  and  the 
tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  wished  me  all  happiness. 
He  kissed  Eleanor,  whom  he  had  christened  twenty 
years  before,  and  he  blessed  her  again.  "  God  bless 
you,  my  child  !"  he  said.  Then  we  turned  round,  so 
that  the  other  people  in  the  room  could  see  us,  and 
the  procession  of  sympathizing  friends  came  up  and 
wished  us  well. 

The  sixth  person  in  the  procession  was  Aunt  Caro 
line.  She  is  Eleanor's  aunt,  but  I  like  her  quite  as 
much  as  Eleanor  does ;  the  kindest,  sweetest,  most  lov 
ing  aunt  that  ever  came  in  when  she  was  wanted,  and 
stayed  away  when  she  was  not  wanted ;  that  ever  sent 
ice-cream  across  to  your  house  on  a  summer's  evening, 
or  called  to  take  your  Southern  cousins  to  ride  when 
she  knew  they  bored  you  to  death.  Aunt  Caroline 
was  sixth  in  the  procession  of  welcome. 

"  Dear  Felix,"  she  said  at  once,  "  dear  Eleanor,  my 
present — well,  it  is  too  big  to  be  carried  about  much, 
and  so  —  well,  I  have  told  the  man  to  carry  it  to 
your  new  house,  and  when  you  come  it  will  be  there 


60  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

before  you  to  welcome  you.  I  do  hope  you  will 
like  it." 

"  Like  it ! — of  course  we  shall  like  it,  Aunt  Caroline. 
We  should  like  it  if  it  were  only  a  lump  of  coal."  And 
in  her  tenderness  Eleanor  kissed  her  aunt  again  and 
again. 

Fifty  times  on  the  wedding  journey  did  we  go  back 
to  the  present,  and  wonder  what  it  was  which  was  so 
large.  I  was  sure  it  was  a  cast  of  the  Laocoon.  El 
eanor  was  quite  sure  it  was  a  library  bookcase.  Some 
times  I  thought  it  was  the  Cyclopaedia  Britannica  up 
to  Marplot,  which  was  as  far  as  that  cyclopedia  had 
then  gone.  Sometimes  I  hoped  it  was  Larousse,  which 
would  be  better  still.  At  last,  after  such  a  fortnight 
of  October  and  red  maples,  and  purple  tupelos  and 
glorious  sunsets,  and  cozy  reading  of  Browning  by  the 
firesides  of  comfortable  inns  —  after  fourteen  days  of 
exquisite  life  and  happy  love,  we  drove  up  to  the 
pretty  little  house  which  was  to  be  our  happy  home, 
and  I  lifted  Eleanor  from  the  buggy,  and  I  said, 
"  Welcome  home,  sweetheart  and  darling !" 

And  she  kissed  me,  and  she  ran  before  me  into  the 
house,  and  she  said,  "  Now  we  shall  know." 


II. — WHAT    WE    FOUND 

Alas !  we  did  know,  only  too  soon. 

Bridget  had  lighted  up  the  new  parlor  for  our  re 
ception  with  the  effulgence  of  her  own  enthusiasm. 
There  was  a  large  carcel  burning  on  the  centre  table. 
This  lamp  was  a  present  from  Uncle  Tristram.  On 


AUNT  CAROLINE'S  PRESENT  61 

the  mantel  were  too  bronze  branches  in  which  she  had 
placed  four  red  wax-candles,  and  she  had  lighted  them 
all.  These  branches  were  a  present  from  my  cousin 
Jotham.  On  the  other  side  of  the  room,  on  the  piano 
forte,  were  two  student  -  lamps  of  different  patterns. 
These  were  presents  from  Ernest  Gabler  and  Submit 
Shattuck,  and  Bridget  had  lighted  both  of  them. 

All  this  light  and  sweetness  were  to  do  fit  honor  to 
Aunt  Caroline's  present,  which  was  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room  as  we  entered,  and  obtruded  itself  from  the 
very  first  instant.  Indeed,  it  was  impossible  to  escape 
it  at  any  moment  while  you  were  in  that  room.  It 
was  a  thoroughly  horrible  picture  from  the  parable  of 
the  Prodigal  Son.  It  had  escaped  by  misfortune  from 
some  "  chamber  of  horrors."  I  do  not  know  its  real 
history,  though  I  have,  alas  !  had  time  enough  to  study 
it  since  those  days.  But  I  cannot  think  calmly  on  its 
history;  it  even  makes  me  sick;  and  excepting  that 
the  name  "  Melgrum  "  appears  rather  prominently  un 
der  the  feet  of  one  of  the  swine,  I  have  no  clew  to  its 
origin.  I  can  only  suppose,  as  I  do,  that  "  Melgrum  " 
was  some  overgrown  oaf  in  some  high -school,  who 
made  himself  disgusting  by  caricaturing  the  boys  and 
the  masters.  I  think  the  masters,  in  the  hope  to  be 
rid  of  him,  reported  that  he  was  a  genius,  and  per 
suaded  some  kind  brewer  to  give  him  money  enough 
to  go  to  Munich  to  u  study  art."  Arrived  there,  I 
think  he  had  just  learned  what  are  the  crudest,  the 
most  fiery  and  piercing  pigments  concocted,  when  he 
painted  this  picture,  before  his  studies  in  anatomy, 
composition,  or  perspective  had  begun.  I  think  the 
Bavarian  government  forbade  its  public  exhibition, 


62  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

and  that  it  was  then  surreptitiously  sent  to  this  coun 
try  for  sale.  I  think  dear  Aunt  Caroline  was  en 
trapped  or  lured  into  the  warehouse  where  it  was  ex 
hibited  just  when  the  thousand  dollars  was  burning  in 
her  pocket-book  which  she  meant  to  spend  for  Elea 
nor's  present.  I  think  she  told  her  companion,  Mrs. 
Jabez  Flynn,  how  much  she  meant  to  spend,  that  Mrs. 
Flynn  privately  told  this  to  the  perjured  villain  who 
is  the  master  of  the  picture  -  shop,  and  that  he,  with 
an  awful  audacity,  bade  the  attendant  bring  this  pict 
ure  forward  and  place  it  under  the  lights  for  exhibi 
tion.  I  think  he  mentioned  twelve  hundred  dollars 
as  the  price,  but  consented  to  be  forced  down  to  one 
thousand.  And  then  and  thus  I  think  our  fate  was 
sealed. 

The  size  of  the  picture  was  eight  feet  by  six.  The 
frame  was  enormous,  and  very  costly.  The  conception 
was  absurd.  In  the  middle  of  the  picture  you  saw  a 
large  group  intended  to  represent  a  company  of  people 
feasting,  who  were  the  Prodigal  Son,  his  father  and 
mother,  and  other  guests  called  in  on  the  occasion  of 
his  return.  A  gallery  above  them  in  the  background 
was  filled  with  people  singing,  and  under  the  gallery, 
but  beyond  the  guests,  you  could  dimly  discern  other 
people  dancing,  with  tambourines  over  their  heads. 
All  this  transpired  under  certain  columns  and  arches, 
but  all  in  the  open  air.  On  the  right  hand,  in  what 
would  be  the  distance  had  "Melgrum"  known  how  to 
represent  distance,  stood  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves  feed 
ing  hogs  with  Indian-corn.  On  the  other  side,  of  the 
same  size  and  character,  was  a  butcher  cutting  the 
throat  of  a  calf.  From  something  Aunt  Caroline 


AUNT   CAROLINE  8    PRESENT 


dropped,  I  believe  it  was  the  happy  union  of  three 
subjects  on  one  canvas  which  determined  her  to  buy 
the  picture.  As  she  said,  with  real  enthusiasm,  "  It 
does  not  represent  a  part  of  the  parable ;  the  whole 
parable  is  there." 


III. — HOW    PEOPLE    LIKED    IT 

Here  was  the  picture,  occupying  practically  the  whole 
of  one  wall  of  our  parlor,  which  was  to  have  been  so 
pretty — the  room  in  which,  as  our  plans  were  made, 
dear  Eleanor  was  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  her  life. 
We  looked  at  it  a  little,  we  received  silently  Bridget's 
enthusiastic  admiration  of  it,  but  we  passed  as  quickly  as 
we  could  to  see  how  the  dining-room  was  arranged,  and 
how  my  workshop  looked.  And  it  ended  in  my  put 
ting  Eleanor  into  my  own  easy-chair  there,  going  back 
into  her  parlor  for  one  of  the  reading-lamps,  and  bid 
ding  Bridget  extinguish  the  others  and  the  candles. 
Eleanor  spent  the  evening  with  me  in  my  den,  and  I 
read  Coventry  Patmore's  Betrothal  to  her. 

But  we  could  not  do  that  all  the  time.  She  could 
not  be  in  my  room  when  I  had  men  there  on  business. 
She  had  a  feeling  of  pride,  indeed,  which  for  a  long 
time  made  her  keep  up  a  gallant  struggle  for  the  par 
lor,  which  was  her  own  room,  she  said.  "Why  should 
I  go  up-stairs  and  sit  in  a  bedchamber,  when  I  have 
such  a  pretty  room  of  my  own  ?"  She  would  say  this. 
She  would  say,  "  I  am  sure  dear  Aunt  Caroline  did  not 
mean  to  make  me  to  be  a  vagrant  in  my  own  house." 
Queer,  now,  that  sense  of  pride.  I  have  known  men 
who  had  it.  I  have  known  men  who  really  thought 


64  SUSAN'S  ESCOJRT,  AND  OTHERS 

that  when  they  had  done  a  gallant  eight  hours'  work 
down -town  they  had  a  right  at  home  to  the  things 
home  was  made  for.  Philanthropists  and  politicians 
and  tramps,  map -peddlers  and  others,  would  follow 
them  to  their  homes,  and  yet  these  men  would  act 
ually  refuse  to  grind  their  axes  for  them  there.  So 
poor  Eleanor  said  she  would  stand  for  her  rights  in  her 
pretty  parlor.  She  would  not  be  driven  out  from  it 
by  that  hateful  butcher ;  she  would  not  have  those 
dirty  pigs  trampling  over  her  carpet,  she  said ;  she 
would  not  hear  those  tambourine  women  clinking  their 
old  parchment  things. 

But  she  overestimated  her  own  abilities.  I  have 
noticed  that  most  men  do  who  think  they  can  keep 
bores  out  of  their  houses.  I  have  a  large  circle  of 
friends  in  and  near  Netherstone,  and  so  has  Eleanor. 
They  were  making  their  wedding  calls,  and  they  al 
ways  found  the  Prodigals — as  Eleanor  called  all  the 
people  in  the  picture,  quadrupeds  and  bipeds  —  had 
stepped  in  before  them.  Eleanor  had  not  simply  to 
keep  the  odious  creatures  out  of  her  own  mind  and 
heart ;  she  had  to  keep  them  out  of  her  visitors'. 

"  I  could  bear  it,"  she  said,  "  if  I  were  alone.  I  can 
turn  my  back  to  it.  See,  I  have  my  work-table  and 
my  things  here,  and  here  is  my  writing-desk  I  look 
exactly  the  other  way.  But  it  is  the  callers.  Every 
body  looks  at  the  Prodigals  first  and  last;  and  in  spite 
of  all  my  skill  it  is  the  central  and  chief  subject  of 
conversation." 

In  truth,  visitors  might  be  divided  into  three  classes 
as  regarded  the  picture.  These  were,  first,  the  frank, 
unpretending  people,  who  did  not  value  their  own  opin- 


AUNT    CAROLINE  S    PRESENT  65 

ions  highly,  but  still  had  opinions.  These  people  said 
—how  could  they  do  otherwise  ?— that  they  disliked 
the  picture  very  much.  Some  of  them  asked  Eleanor 
how  she  could  have  such  an  absurd  thing  there.  Most 
of  them,  it  is  true,  thought  this  was  not  kind.  But 
even  of  this  set  there  were  but  few  who  had  sense 
enough  and  self-control  enough  to  say  nothing.  Had 
it  been  an  ugly  figure  on  the  paper-hanging,  I  do  not 
think  they  would  have  spoken  of  it.  Had  the  room 
been  inconveniently  low,  I  do  not  think  many  of  these 
people  would  have  said,  "How  low  this  ceiling  is!" 
But  a  mistaken  etiquette  has  come  in,  and  people  think 
they  must  speak  of  pictures  as  you  must  speak  of  the 
weather,  of  the  election,  of  health,  and  of  the  opera. 
So  was  it  that  even  judicious  people  asked  if  it  were 
painted  in  Munich,  or  they  were  reminded  by  it  of  a 
picture  they  had  seen  in  Antwerp,  or  they  said  the 
subject  had  not  been  often  treated,  or  said  it  had.  The 
most  carefully  trained  of  this  class  said  it  was  "  very 
instructive."  Other  some  said  that  it  must  have  taken 
a  great  deal  of  pains  and  study.  And  my  poor  wife— 
as  the  various  nice  people  of  the  town  and  the  neigh 
borhood  called  upon  her— came  to  know  all  the  possi 
ble  changes  of  these  judicious  remarks,  as  you  know 
the  changes  on  the  nearest  chime  of  bells.  She  said 
she  could  tell  what  they  were  going  to  say  before  they 
opened  their  mouths. 

The  second  class  was  larger.  It  was  the  body  of 
people,  quite  un instructed  in  fine  art,  who  wanted  to 
be  instructed,  wanted  to  think  right,  and  wanted  to 
say  right,  if  they  could  only  find  out  what  right  was. 
Well,  I  have  a  right  to  say  that  there  was  nobody  in 


66  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 

Netherstone  whose  opinion  on  such  matters  was  re 
garded  more  highly  than  mine.  I  had  shown  my  pho 
tographs  at  the  Lend -a -Hand  Club  one  winter.  I 
was  president  of  the  Reading  Club,  and  we  had  read 
Mrs.  Jameson,  and  all  the  people  who  could  had 
brought  pictures.  So  long  as  there  were  art  unions, 
the  book-store  men  always  sent  the  art-union  agents 
first  of  all  to  me.  Indeed,  if  anybody  in  that  neigh 
borhood  knew  what  was  good  in  art,  I  did.  Class 
number  two  consisted  of  people  who,  of  themselves, 
would  have  detested  the  picture,  but,  seeing  it  in  my 
house,  knew  they  ought  to  like  it.  They  made  horri 
ble  attempts  to  like  it.  "  How  very  natural  that  pig's 
tail  is  !"  "  How  red  the  sunset  is  !"  "  See  how  angry 
his  face  is  !"  "  It  is  so  interesting  to  see  the  costume  ! 
I  never  understood  before  about  the  coat  of  many  col 
ors  ;"  and  so  on.  They  would  keep  my  poor  wife 
standing  before  the  abomination  all  through  the  wed 
ding  call.  When  I  came  home  from  the  office  she 
would  be  dead  with  fatigue,  and  when  I  soothed  her, 
and  asked  the  reason,  she  would  sigh  out,  "  Oh,  it  was 
the  Prodigals  again  !" 

Smallest  of  all,  yet  I  ought  to  say  most  disagreeable 
of  all,  the  three  classes  of  visitors  were  those  who 
abused  it  up  and  down.  Smallest  because,  as  I  have 
hinted,  it  required  courage  in  my  house  to  say  that  one 
of  my  pictures  was  hopelessly  bad,  and  had  no  redeem 
ing  point  in  it.  But  this  the  thoroughly  disagreeable 
people  of  our  acquaintance,  the  people  we  least  liked, 
sometimes  had  courage  enough  to  say,  or  what  Mr. 
Ward  calls  "  cussedness"  enough.  These  people,  there 
fore,  were  the  only  people  of  all  who  made  wedding 


67 

calls  on  us  in  the  month  after  our  return  who  said 
what  we  ourselves  said  to  each  other.  Yet  such  is  the 
perversity  of  human  nature  that  we  were  not  pleased 
when  they  did  say  it;  for  they  seemed  to  say  it  be 
cause  they  thought  it  would  displease  us.  When  we 
assented  moderately,  they  were  not  satisfied  with  such 
assent.  They  required  stronger  language  or  none. 
But  who  would,  who  could,  gratify  such  cynical  and 
hateful  wretches  ?  Were  we  to  give  up  dear,  kind  Aunt 
Caroline  to  their  gossip  and  brutal  jeers  ?  No,  indeed  ! 
The  unfriendly  criticism  was  as  bad  as  the  friendly. 

"  It  is  all  horrid,  perfectly  horrid !"  This  was  my 
wife's  exclamation  to  me  almost  every  day. 

Yet  Aunt  Caroline  looked  in  on  us  herself  so  often 
and  so  kindly  that  it  was  impossible  to  carry  the  dread 
ful  thing  to  the  attic,  to  the  cellar,  or  to  the  furnace. 
And  when  she  came — without  saying  much  about  her 
own  present — she  still  brooded  over  it  with  an  eye  so 
loving  and  tender,  her  whole  great  heart  went  out  to  it 
with  such  delight,  that  for  the  moment  my  poor  Eleanor 
would  be  rewarded  for  the  struggle  she  had  made. 
Now  she  was  glad  she  had  not  dashed  at  that  little 
pig  with  her  scissors  to  cut  out  his  "natural  tail"; 
now  she  was  glad  she  had  not  brought  "  Morning  Sun 
Stove  Polish  "  from  the  kitchen  to  rub  it  over  the  face 
of  the  butcher  who  killed  the  fatted  calf.  So  much 
occasional  reward  had  she  for  a  moment  as  the  recom 
pense  for  days  of  wretchedness. 

After  the  various  wedding  calls  on  us  were  over,  and 
after  we  had  returned  them,  there  came  a  certain  lull. 
In  the  midst  of  it  Eleanor  made  a  little  visit  of  forty- 
eight  hours  to  Miss  Stearns,  her  dear  old  schoolmis- 


"68  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

tress.  I  improved  the  occasion,  and  sent  for  Copper 
head,  the  village  upholsterer,  and  with  his  aid  I  moved 
the  Prodigals  into  the  dining-room.  The  first  time 
Aunt  Caroline  called  she  looked  for  it  in  its  usual  place, 
and  her  face  fell.  But  I  told  her  boldly  that  the  light 
was  better  in  the  dining-room,  and  that  I  thought  the 
festivity  which  was  suggested  by  the  picture  was  ap 
propriate  to  that  altar  of  the  appetites.  Dear  Aunt 
Caroline!  she  also  had  perfect  confidence  in  my  good 
taste  in  fine  art,  and  she  abjectly  and  modestly  assent 
ed.  So  that  when  my  dear  wife  came  home  she  could 
receive  a  morning  visit  without  terror. 

But  when  one  saves  at  the  spigot,  one  may  lose  at 
the  bung.  Your  skirmishers  are  successful,  but  just  in 
their  flush  of  victory  your  centre  is  forced,  and  the 
battle  is  lost.  While  we  triumphed  in  the  serenity  of 
morning  calls  it  happened  that  I  had  to  give  a  little 
dinner-party  to  Sir  William  Hartley,  the  distinguished 
botanist,  who  had  brought  me  letters  from  Professor 
Sabbati.  I  had  sent  to  Cincinnati  for  the  L'Estranges 
to  come  up  and  meet  him ;  Armstrong  had  been  very 
good  and  had  ridden  over  from  the  college;  Eleanor's 
pretty  sister  Grace  was  staying  with  us ;  and  we  had 
the  two  Carter  girls,  Felix  Carter's  twin  daughters. 

I  do  not  say  that  Eleanor  and  I  had  forgotten.  That 
is  impossible.  But  I  always  sat  with  my  back  to  it, 
and  she  with  her  right  side  to  it,  and  we  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  leaving  the  room  without  looking  at 
it.  In  summer  we  had  a  light  gauze  hung  over  it,  to 
keep  off  the  flies. 

But  it  was  just  before  Christmas  that  Sir  William 
came  with  the  letter  of  introduction.  ~No  flies  then. 


The  most  agreeable  of  travellers  was  he.  And  all  the 
others  came,  as  nice  as  they  could  be.  He  took  Eleanor 
in  to  dinner,  I  took  in  Sarah  Carter,  and  the  others 
were  arranged  just  as  they  liked.  He  was  telling  a 
very  merry  story  about  the  Ameer  of  Cabool  as  he  ate 
his  soup,  and  he  had  just  come  to  the  point,  when 
Bridget  took  his  plate  away,  and  as  he  looked  up  he 
saw  the  pigs  and  the  forlorn  Prodigal. 

Well-bred  as  he  was,  he  lost  command  of  himself. 
He  faltered,  and  for  a  moment  said  nothing.  Then  he 
turned  to  Eleanor  with  an  agonized  smile,  and  said, 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  I  was  saying — oh  yes,  it  was  the 
officinalis,  not  the  maritime  but  the  two  resemble  each 
other  closely." 

All  the  other  people  stared.  Of  course  every  one  on 
his  side  looked  up  at  the  wall  to  see  what  had  dashed 
him  so. 

Eleanor  declared,  as  she  cried  about  it  afterwards, 
that  from  that  moment  he  talked  to  her  as  if  she  were 
an  idiot.  And  when  he  went  away  from  Netherstone 
without  so  much  as  calling  on  her,  she  said:  " I  should 
not  think  he  would.  I  should  not  think  he  would  want 
to  see  anybody  that  had  such  abominations  on  her 
walls." 

So,  when  Eleanor  went  to  her  mother's  at  Christ 
mas,  I  had  Copperhead  again.  This  time  we  moved 
the  hateful  thing  into  my  study.  I  packed  up  some 
hundred  and  fifty  books,  took  down  one  set  of  shelves, 
moved  all  the  encyclopaedias  into  the  closet,  and  old 
Copperhead  and  I  hung  the  Prodigals  on  the  vacant 
wall  I  thus  gained.  There  was  an  awful  cross  light, 
but  this  was  so  much  the  better.  I  turned  my  own 


70  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

desk  so  that  my  back  should  see  it  as  I  wrote.  As  for 
the  visitors,  I  hoped  their  good  angels  would  be  with 
them. 

Aunt  Caroline  came  in  to  see  Eleanor  on  her  return. 
It  was  New  Year's  Day.  She  went  in  to  lunch  with 
us.  It  was  so  lately  that  I  had  told  her  how  good  the 
light  was  in  the  dining-room  that  my  heart  sank  with 
my  mortification  when,  as  she  sat  at  Eleanor's  right, 
just  where  Sir  William  Hartley  had  sat,  I  saw  her  look 
up  at  the  wall,  where  we  had  hung  Yernet's  "  Gideon  " 
in  place  of  the  Prodigals. 

The  surprise  on  her  face  was  very  distinct,  but  the 
good  woman  said  nothing. 

"We  have  moved  the  picture — your  picture — the 
'  Prodigal,'  into  my  study,"  I  said.  And  then,  with 
the  audacity  of  despair,  I  added,  by  a  sudden  im 
pulse,  "  I  am  going  to  have  my  Bible  class  there  to 
see  it." 

Aunt  Caroline  said  nothing,  but  I  hoped  she  was  not 
displeased. 

Before  I  slept  I  atoned  for  that  awful  lie.  I  wrote 
a  note  to  each  of  the  Bible  class,  and  asked  them  to 
take  tea  with  us  Thursday  evening,  and  they  came. 

I  received  them  in  the  parlor.  I  am  always  afraid 
of  them  on  Sunday,  when  I  have  prepared  the  lesson. 
How  much  more  afraid  was  I  now !  But  I  asked  after 
their  fathers  and  their  mothers.  Mr.  Clarkson,  the 
superintendent,  was  most  cordial  and  affable.  Eleanor, 
dear  soul,  showed  photographs,  and  at  last  the  welcome 
announcement  of  supper  took  us  all  to  the  table.  Meat 
and  drink  warm  all  hearts.  I  loitered  at  the  meal  as 
long  as  I  dared.  But  when  the  last  boy  had  eaten  the 


AUNT  CAROLINE'S  PRESENT  71 

last  bonbon  a  warning  look  across  the  table  from  my 
wife  compelled  me  to  act. 

"Would  you  not  like  to  come  into  my  work-room, 
ancl — and  see  my  great  picture  of  the  'Prodigal  Son'  ?" 
Thus  far  I  had  not  lied. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir."  "  Oh  yes,  sir."  "  Mrs.  Ames  told  me 
all  about  it."  "  Mrs.  Wenceslaus  was  speaking  of  it." 

I  knew  that  these  two  people  represented  two  classes 
of  critics.  Woe  is  me ! 

We  filed  through  the  hall  into  my  library.  The 
picture  was  well  lighted.  The  young  people  arranged 
themselves.  Mr.  Clarkson  happened  to  be  at  one  end 
of  the  platoon,  and  I  was  at  the  other.  I  think  two 
girls  giggled,  but  I  shall  never  know. 

I  cleared  my  throat.  "  The  picture  is  partly  what  is 
called  realistic  and  partly  allegorical.  In  the  middle 
you  see  the  great  columns  divide  what  may  be  called 
the  picture  of  the  present  from  the  other  pictures, 
which  may  be  called  the  pictures  of  the  past.  In  the 
right-hand  picture  of  the  past  you  see  the  poor  young 
Prodigal,  pale  to  show  he  is  hungry,  looking  eagerly  at 
the  husks.  You  see  how  the  swine  are  eating  them, 
just  as  the  Bible  says.  Then  in  the  background,  in  the 
picture  of  the  present,  you  see  the  dancers ;  those  per 
sons  in  the  gallery  are  the  band  of  music." 

I  thought  I  should  die  as  I  went  through  with  this 
galimatias.  Mr.  Clarkson  with  a  rod  pointed  out  the 
different  figures  as  I  alluded  to  them. 

JSTo  boy  spoke,  and  no  girl. 

"There  was  silence  deep  as  death 
As  I  drifted  on  my  path, 
And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 
For  a  time." 


72  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHEKS 

It  became  oppressive.  Even  the  boys  and  girls  felt 
that  something  must  be  said,  and  Jabez  Proctor,  inva 
riably  silent  in  the  Sabbath-school  when  any  subject  of 
ethics  or  of  faith  was  discussed,  with  one  great  effort 
asked :  "  Be  them  hogs  Berkshires  or  natives  ?  The 
tails  is  too  tight  twisted  for  natives,  and  the  legs  is 
long  for  Berkshires." 

Mr.  Clarkson,  with  a  bold  invention,  of  which  I  was 
not  guilty,  said,  "  These  are  the  hogs  of  the  breed  of 
Edom,"  but  he  was  hardly  heard.  A  loud  guffaw  burst 
through  all  the  ranks,  and  but  little  that  was  edifying 
came  from  the  study  of  Aunt  Caroline's  picture  that 
evening. 

The  slow  world  turned  still  on  its  axis.  At  last  nine 
o'clock  came,  and  the  children  went  away. 


IV.— WHAT   WE    DID    THEN 

This  is  only  one  instance  in  a  hundred  of  the  annoy 
ance  given  me,  and  more  often  given  Eleanor,  by  a 
present  meant  most  kindly.  It  is  provoking  to  have 
such  a  presence  in  the  house  asserting  itself  almost 
every  hour  of  every  day.  You  may  say  one  should  be 
philosophical  and  forget  it.  I  only  wish  you  would 
try.  Fortunately  for  Eleanor  and  me,  March  was  a 
very  warm  month,  and  I  really  saw,  on  the  10th,  two 
large  flies  on  my  window-pane.  x\ny  other  year  1 
should  have  killed  them.  But  not  now.  I  ran  to  the 
linen  closet.  With  my  own  hands  I  brought  out  the 
lace  with  which  we  protected  the  "  Prodigal."  In  a 
few  minutes  it  was  screened  from  all  danger,  and  for  a 


73 

little  a  weight  was  lifted  from  me.  Aunt  Caroline 
called  the  next  day,  and  came  into  my  work-room.  I 
said,  with  a  sense  of  guilt,  "  Have  you  noticed  how 
early  the  flies  come,  and  how  annoying  they  are?" 
Aunt  Caroline  said  nothing. 

It  would  be  absurd  to  say  we  did  not  enjoy  life  in 
that  house.  We  did  enjoy  it,  though  not  long.  At  the 
end  of  the  winter  we  enjoyed  it  much  more  than  at 
the  beginning.  We  understood  life  more,  and  of  course 
we  enjoyed  it  more.  Eleanor  knew  me  better,  I  knew 
her  better,  and  we  both  knew  better  what  mutual  life 
or  double  life  is — call  it  what  you  will,  so  you  know 
that  it  is  real  life.  But  I  do  say  there  was  not  a  fore 
noon,  nor  an  afternoon,  nor  an  evening,  when  the 
Prodigal  Son,  or  his  father,  or  his  elder  brother,  or  the 
butcher,  or  some  dancer,  or  perhaps  one  of  the  pigs, 
did  not  walk  out  of  that  horrid  picture  and  interfere 
with  our  enjoyment  or  profit  of  the  day. 

I  will  not  say  that  this  was  the  reason  why  in  the 
end  of  the  spring  we  gave  up  housekeeping  for  a  little. 
It  was  my  reason,  but  it  may  not  have  been  Eleanor's. 
We  dismissed  Bridget  and  Delia.  I  boxed  up  a  few 
books,  and  we  took  lodgings  for  the  summer  on  Tower 
Hill,  that  most  charming  and  cool  of  hilltops,  which 
overlooks  ISTarragansett  Pier  so  prettily.  Here  we 
spent  a  pleasant  summer.  Eleanor  sewed  and  sketched 
and  read  to  her  heart's  content.  I  earned  my  daily 
bread  with  my  good-natured  old  brain  and  my  diligent 
pen.  I  took  my  bath  in  the  surf  every  morning,  and 
we  sat  in  the  shade  to  see  the  others  bathe.  And  in 
the  afternoon  I  read  aloud  the  last  Howells  of  the  day. 
So  pleasantly  the  summer  ran  by,  without  husks  or 


74  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND   OTHERS 

swine,  without  penitent  Prodigals  or  jealous  brothers, 
till  September  closed  in,  when  one  morning  I  was  a 
little  late  at  breakfast.  Eleanor  was  sitting  after 
breakfast  on  the  hotel  piazza  with  Mrs.  Partelow,  and 
I  was  talking  grand  politics  with  Julius  Tucker,  when 
Yanderdyke,  one  of  those  disagreeable  fellows  who  like 
to  tell  bad  news,  came  up  to  me  and  said : 

"  Are  not  3*011  Mr.  Throop  ?" 

I  said  I  was. 

"From-Netherstone?" 

I  said  yes,  I  was  from  Netherstone. 

"  Then  I  suppose  that  means  you,1'  he  said,  and  with 
a  certain  satisfaction  he  thrust  the  morning  journal 
into  my  hand,  pointing  out  to  me  a  short  telegraphic 
paragraph  under  the  head, 

"FIRE  IN  NETHERSTONE,  OHIO. 

"A  fire  in  Netherstone,  Ohio,  yesterday,  destroyed  the  houses  of 
Mr.  Felix  Throop  and  Mrs.  William  Jackson.  Loss  $15,000." 

I  called  my  poor  little  wife,  and  told  her  the  disas 
trous  news.  We  escaped  our  S37mpathetic  friends  at 
once,  and  rushed  home  to  the  cottage  to  pack  for  our 
return.  In  less  than  an  hour  came  a  despatch  from 
John  Bradford  confirming  the  story.  "  So  late  that 
we  saved  hardly  anything." 

Eleanor  had  borne  the  news  most  bravely  up  till  now. 
But  when  this  despatch  came  she  fairly  laughed  with 
joy.  She  crossed  from  her  trunk  and  sat  on  my 
knee,  and  said,  "  I  can  bear  anything,  now  I  know 
that;  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  happy,  wherever  we 
begin." 


75 

By  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  we  were  at  Neth- 
erstone.  As  we  came  to  the  last  stop,  Eleanor,  who 
had  been  resting  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  looked  up 
and  smiled. 

"  Felix,  there  is  one  comfort,"  said  she. 

"  Indeed  there  is,"  said  I. 

"  We  shall  never  see  those  horrid  pigs  again." 

"  Never,"  said  I.  "  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no 
body  any  good." 

I  had  telegraphed  Bradford  to  meet  us,  and  he  and 
many  of  my  friends  were  at  the  station. 

"  It  was  so  late,"  said  Bradford,  "  and  so  sudden. 
The  wind  was  hard  from  the  northwest." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  "  there  is  one  thing,  Mrs. 
Throop,  which  will  delight  you." 

"  Yes  ?"  said  Eleanor,  cheerfully.     "  What  is  that  ?" 

"  It  was  the  courage  and  pluck  of  young  Proctor,  of 
the  Bible  class,  you  know.  When  things  wTere  at  the 
worst  he  got  three  or  four  of  his  mates  together,  they 
dashed  in  the  blinds  and  windows  of  the  library,  and 
entered  it  by  ladders.  With  his  own  knife  he  cut  the 
great  picture  from  the  frame,  and  that  is  saved  !" 


COLONEL   CLIPSHAM'S   CALENDAR 


COLONEL  CLIPSHAM  led  a  curious  life,  but,  for  a  man 
at  his  age,  not  an  unpleasant  one.  His  professional  du 
ties  were  not  oppressive,  and  he  had  entered  into  a 
career  which  made  it  almost  sure  that  they  never 
would  be  oppressive.  He  had  a  very  comfortable  suite 
of  rooms  in  his  sister's  house,  and  alwa}Ts  breakfasted 
with  her  family.  As  will  be  seen,  they  did  not  often 
expect  him  at  dinner;  but  nieces  and  nephews,  sister 
Prue  and  her  husband  Wintergreen,  were  always  glad 
if  he  did  look  in  at  that  meal.  For  the  rest,  Clipsham 
was  a  general  favorite  in  Tarn  worth,  where  he  lived  ; 
and  if  there  were  not  a  german  every  evening,  or  a 
progressive -euchre  party  on  his  list,  why,  there  was 
the  Thursday  Club,  and  the  Whist  Club,  and  the  Chess 
Club,  and  the  Union,  and  the  Association,  and  the  pret 
ty  new  room  of  the  Harvard  Club.  "As  to  that," 
said  Clipsham,  truly,  if  you  had  asked  him  how  he 
spent  his  evenings,  "  I  am  never  so  happy  as  I  am  with 
a  novel  or  with  the  newspaper  at  home."  But  it  was 
to  be  observed  that  he  seldom  enjoyed  this  acme  of 
his  happiness  at  the  top-notch  of  his  life's  tide. 

The  one  thing  of  which  Clipsham's  friends  were 
sure  was  this,  that  he  would  never  go  into  public  life. 


77 

True,  he  always  voted ;  he  even  voted  for  the  school 
eommittee,  which  most  of  the  people  in  Tamworth 
forgot  to  do.  But  it  was  also  true  that  he  did  not  at 
tend  primary  meetings.  And  it  was  by  a  series  of 
rather  curious  circumstances  that  the  public  was  led  to 
place  that  confidence  in  him  which  has  now  lifted  him 
so  far  out  of  the  run  of  machine-made  politics.  It  is 
the  business  of  this  story  to  tell,  for  the  first  time,  so 
far  as  I  know,  the  way  those  circumstances  followed 
each  other. 

Clipsham  was  a  man  of  iron  memory.  And  this  was 
not  all  pig-iron.  One  might  say  steel  memory,  or  a 
memory  of  watch-springs,  if  we  understood  better  than 
we  do  the  action  of  the  mechanism  of  memory.  By 
this  I  mean  that  he  recollected  what  are  called  little 
things  at  the  right  moment,  as  well  as  he  remembered 
the  big  things  all  along  his  life.  He  remembered  that 
the  national  debt  was  $2,198,765,432.10  when  it  was  at 
that  precise  amount,  but  he  also  remembered  that  he 
had  told  the  washerwoman's  boy  to  come  round  at  a 
quarter  past  eight  Friday  evening  and  he  would  give 
him  a  ticket  to  the  circus.  On  such  a  combination,  of 
what  I  call  the  pig-iron  memory  and  what  I  call  the 
watch-spring  memory,  does  much  of  the  good  cheer 
and  success  of  a  happy  life  depend. 

But  on  a  fatal  day,  after  Clipsham  was  thirty-three 
years  old,  he  thought  he  forgot  something.  I  do  not 
myself  believe  he  did.  If  he  did,  it  was  before  break 
fast,  when  no  one  ought  to  be  asked  to  remember  any 
thing — not  whether  Semiramis  is  the  name  of  an  em 
press  or  of  a  toadstool.  But  he  thought  he  forgot 
something.  And  so  it  was  that  he  went  down  to  Mr. 


78  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHEKS 

Backup's  shop  and  bought  this  calendar,  oi  which  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  the  story. 

There  it  is.  He  gave  it  to  me  on  the  day  of  his  in 
auguration.  You  see  it  has  the  days  of  the  week  on 
one  scroll,  and  the  days  of  the  month  on  another. 
Then  you  turn  this  cog  at  the  beginning  of  the  month, 
and  you  are  ready  for  thirty-one  more  days,  if  there  be 
so  many.  The  only  defect  in  the  machine  is  that  you 
might  suppose  that  there  were  thirty-one  days  in  Feb 
ruary.  But,  as  Judge  Marshall  said,  "  The  court  is  ex 
pected  to  know  something." 

Now  Clipsham  is  a  charming  public  speaker.  He 
tells  a  story  well — in  particular,  he  tells  with  great 
good-humor  a  story  to  his  own  disadvantage.  He  re 
members  well — that  has  been  said.  He  passes,  by  a 
sudden  change — what  do  singers  call  it,  modulation?— 
from  grave  to  gay,  or  from  gay  to  grave.  Best  of  all, 
he  never  says  one  word  about  himself.  Then  he  never 
pretends  that  he  does  not  like  to  speak.  He  does  like 
to  speak.  A  man  would  be  an  ass  who  did  not  like  to 
speak  if  he  spoke  as  well  as  Clipsham  does.  He  makes 
no  introductions  to  his  speech.  When  he  has  done  he 
makes  no  "  conclusion."  Just  when  you  are  hoping  he 
will  say  more  he  sits  down.  And  he  never  makes  a 
long  speech.  These  spring  from  sterling  qualities, 
which  are  not  often  united  in  one  handsome,  graceful, 
intelligent  young  man  of  thirty-three. 

So  it  is  that  Clipsham  is  much  invited  to  public  din 
ners.  As  for  that,  we  all  are.  But  generally  the  in 
vitation  is  accompanied  with  a  request  that  in  accept 
ing  you  will  pay  for  your  ticket — a  dollar  and  a  half, 
or  three  dollars,  or  five,  or  ten — according  as  the  hon- 


COLONEL  CLIPSHAM'S  CALENDAR  79 

ored  guest  of  the  evening  is  a  college  professor,  doctor 
of  divinity,  an  agent  from  Japan,  or  a  travelling  Eng 
lish  lecturer.  Now,  as  most  of  us  can  bolt  our  modest 
dinner  of  mock-turtle,  fried  oysters,  charlotte-russe,  and 
coffee  at  any  eating-house—even  the  most  fussy,  noisy, 
and  showy — for  less  than  the  lowest  of  these  prices,  our 
invitations  are  not  so  attractive.  To  Clipsham  the 
invitation  always  came  with  a  ticket.  That  is  quite  a 
different  thing,  and  Clipsham,  who  was  in  a  good  many 
college  societies,  was  the  great-grandson  of  a  Cincin- 
natus,  and  a  grandson  of  a  hero  of  Lundy's  Lane,  and 
son  of  the  man  who  stormed  Chapultepec  and  held  the 
block-house  at  Gannon's  Three  Corners— Clipsham,  I 
say,  who  was  a  member  of  the  United  Guild  of  Men 
of  Letters,  and  of  the  Consolidated  Sodality  of  Lovers 
of  Art— Clipsham,  whose  good-humor  and  good-fel 
lowship  had  related  him  to  pretty  much  all  the  as 
sociations  in  Tarn  worth,  and,  indeed,  in  that  whole 
State,  found  that  he  was  bidden  to  a  public  dinner 
almost  every  day.  Indeed,  sometimes  the  "  bids,"  as 
his  childish  nephews  called  them,  overlapped  each 
other. 

This  was  the  reason  why  he  dined  so  seldom  with 
his  sister.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  the  reason  why 
you  met  him  so  seldom  at  a  restaurant  or  public 
table. 

You  would  generally  find  him  if  you  went  up-stairs 
to  the  great  dining-room  of  whichever  Delmonico  or 
Wormley  or  Parker  or  Young  of  Tamworth  happened 
on  that  day  to  entertain  the  "  Soul  of  the  Soldiery," 
or  the  "  Brothers  in  Adversit}7,"  or  the  "  Xu  Kappa 
Omega,"  or  whatever  sodality  happened  to  be  holding 


80  SUSAN'S  ESCOET,  AND  OTHERS 

its  annual  dinner.  And  if  you  looked  in  at  the  right 
moment,  Clipsham  would  be  making  a  speech,  and  a 
very  good  speech  too. 


II 

Clipsham's  little  niece,  Gertrude,  is  the  first  heroine 
of  this  story.  And  it  is  on  her  that  the  plot  turns, 
more  than  on  Elinor  May,  who  is  the  other  heroine. 
Gertrude  has  the  run  of  the  house,  but  never  ought  to 
go  to  her  uncle's  room  unless  he  asks  her.  And  this 
Gertrude  knows  perfectly  well. 

But  on  this  day  of  which  I  speak,  some  impulse  of 
Satan,  as  the  old  indictments  would  tell  you,  and  Dr. 
Watts  would  confirm  them,  led  Gertrude  into  the 
"study,"  as  the  room  was  called.  The  same  Mani- 
chean  divinity  whose  name  begins  with  S,  but  shall 
not  be  mentioned  again,  moved  her  to  take  down  the 
calendar  mentioned  before,  and  to  try  the  screws.  She 
twirled  them  this  way,  she  twirled  them  that.  Of  a 
sudden  she  heard  Kate  Connor,  the  girl  who  made  the 
beds. 

Gertrude  feared  detection.  She  hung  up  the  calen 
dar  hastily  and  fled.  But,  alas!  she  left  M.,  which 
stands  for  Monday,  and  10,  which  stands  for  the  tenth 
day  of  the  month,  both  one  notch  too  high.  T.,  W., 
Th.,  F.,  and  the  rest  all  followed  M.,  and  the  engage 
ments  for  the  month  were  all  set  one  day  wrong. 

Kate  Connor  did  not,  in  fact,  enter  the  room.  But 
guilty  Gertrude  thought  she  would,  and  the  result  was 
the  same.  Gertrude  was  called  by  her  mother  before 


81 

she  had  any  chance  to  go  back  again,  and  was  made 
ready  for  a  tennis-party  at  Mrs.  Fisher's.  And  now  it 
is  that,  strictly  speaking,  this  story  begins. 

George  Clipsham  came  home  to  dress  for  dinner.  He 
stopped  a  moment,  and  took  down  the  cyclopaedia  to 
look  at  the  account  of  the  battle  of  Bennington.  For 
he  had  been  turning  over  a  speech  which  he  was  to 
make  at  a  Grand  Army  gathering,  and  he  remembered 
that  Plunkett's  mother  was  a  Stark.  He  wanted  to 
make  a  good  allusion  to  Molly  Stark  and  her  widow 
hood.  But  as  he  passed  his  desk  he  took  the  fatal  cal 
endar,  which  guilty  Gertrude  had  not  had  time  to 
hang  on  its  peg.  Clipsham  hung  it  up  without  a 
thought,  but  did  look  to  see,  to  his  amazement,  that 
the  Grand  Army  dinner  was  done  and  gone  yesterday. 
The  calendar  said  he  was  to  dine  with  the  graduates 
of  the  Western  Reserve  College  to-day.  "Lucky  I 
did  not  fire  the  battle  of  Bennington  at  them,"  said 
Clipsham  to  himself;  "but  what  will  Plunkett  say?" 

The  truth  was  that  Clipsham  had  this  dreadful  cold 
which  you  all  have  had.  And  just  as  you  and  I  deter 
mined  that  we  would  go  to  Florida  another  winter  if 
our  lives  were  spared,  Clipsham  had  determined.  Hand 
kerchiefs? — he  was  bankrupt  in  buying  them.  Hear 
ing? — he  had  been  stone-deaf  all  the  week.  He  did 
not  cough  very  badly,  but  the  cold  was  just  on  that 
juncture  of  the  pharynx  with  the  larynx  where  it  is 
uncomfortable  to  have  it.  He  had  stayed  at  home  the 
day  before  and  nursed  it — glycerine  and  whiskey,  taken 
with  a  very  small  spoon,  was  his  remedy — and  he  had 
persuaded  himself  that  he  could  go  out  to-day. 

To  tell  the  whole  truth,  his  sister  Prue  had  had  pea- 


82  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

soup  and  salt  codfish  for  dinner  the  day  before,  and 
the  children  had  been  very  noisy.  Clipsham  had  deter 
mined  to  change  the  scene.  So  he  had  determined  to 
dine  with  the  Grand  Army  to-day,  and  now  the  cal 
endar  said  the  Grand  Army  dinner  was  "  done  and 
gone."  "Well,"  said  Clipsham  to  himself,  "I  could 
not  have  spoken  aloud  anyway.  And  I  should  not 
have  heard  a  word  they  said.  Western  Reserve  it  is 
to-day.  Lucky  I  looked !"  And  he  went  on  with  his 
dressing,  and  thought  over  some  old  Harvard  stories 
which  would  do  to  tell  to  the  Western  Reserve  gradu 
ates. 

As  he  went  out,  furred,  and  even  veiled,  and  with 
those  horrid  arctics  on  which  made  him  limp  with  pain, 
Prue  met  him  at  the  door. 

"Dear  George,  you  are  not  going  out  with  that 
dreadful  cough?  Why,  I  was  sure  of  you.  I  have 
asked  Mrs.  Oliphant  and  the  Pryces  to  meet  you,  and 
I  have  such  a  lovely  pair  of  canyasbacks." 

George  intimated  that  he  didn't  hear. 

Prue  shouted  her  bill  of  fare,  physical  and  meta 
physical,  into  his  ear. 

George  was  sorry.  But  he  was  all  ready,  and  to  the 
hotel  dinner  he  went,  and  left  those  canvasbacks  be 
hind.  Prue's  would  be  warm,  alas!  and  at  the  Hotel 
Jefferson — that  was  more  doubtful. 


Ill 

The  waiters  all  know  George  to  a  man,  and  he  was 
shown  to  the  reception  parlor  instantly.  The  reader 
understands  what  George  did  not — why  a  third  of  the 
guests  were  in  uniform.  Of  course  they  were,  for  it 
was  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Eepublic.  But  George, 
who  thought  it  was  the  Western  Keserve  dinner,  was 
surprised  that  the  college  men  wanted  to  bring  out 
their  old  blue  frocks  and  bright  buttons.  "  But  that 
was  all  right,"  he  said,  "if  they  chose  to."  Oddly 
enough,  his  friend  Colonel  Plunkett  was  receiving  the 
guests,  and  Clipsham  slipped  into  his  hand  the  note  of 
apology  he  had  written.  Plunkett  slipped  it  into  the 
little  pocket  of  his  uniform  coat,  and  found  it  there 
two  years  afterwards,  when  he  dressed  for  the  same 
anniversary  again.  Clipsham  mumbled  an  apology  to 
Plunkett,  which,  quite  of  course,  Plunkett,  in  shaking 
hands  with  half  the  soldiers  in  the  State,  did  not  hear. 

Clipsham  is  a  bright  man,  and  one  would  have  said 
that  he  would  have  caught  the  thread  of  the  occasion 
earlier  than  he  did.  But  he  did  not  hear  one  word  in 
five  that  any  one  said.  As  for  the  uniforms,  all  the 
world  knows  that  five-sixths  of  the  college  men  of  the 
West  served  in  the  war.  Besides,  they  had  introduced 
Clipsham  to  Professor  Schmidgruber,  who  had  just  ar 
rived,  as  the  agent  from  the  government  of  Hesse-Cas- 
sel  to  study  Western  education.  Clipsham  was  inter 
ested  in  the  savant,  and  they  talked  very  earnestly,  the 
savant  speaking  directly  into  Clipsham's  ear. 

So  it  was  that  when  Clipsham  got  a  card  at  the  din- 


84  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

ner- table  from  Plunkett,  who  was  presiding,  which 
said,  "  You  next,"  he  knev/  that  now  was  his  turn  to 
speak,  without  having  known  much  of  what  had  been 
said  before  him. 

And  a  very  good  speech  it  was.  Not  one  word  about 
the  war,  nor  the  bird  of  freedom,  nor  the  American 
soldier,  nor  Molly  Stark,  as  there  would  have  been  had 
Clipsham  understood  the  truth,  that  he  was  speaking 
to  a  Grand  Army  post.  Instead  of  this  he  spoke,  with 
serious  feeling,  on  the  work  which  educated  men  can 
render  in  any  community.  What  he  had  been  saying 
to  the  German  he  now  said  aloud.  There  is  the  secret 
of  a  good  speech.  He  spoke  to  the  men  before  him  as 
if  they  were  all  scholars,  all  men  of  conscience,  and  all 
leaders  in  the  villages  or  towns  where  they  lived.  He 
told  some  good  stories,  he  made  some  good  jokes ;  but 
his  speech  was  not  in  the  least  commonplace,  and  it 
ended  with  a  very  serious  pledge  as  to  the  duty  they 
would  all  do  to  their  country. 

It  was  received  rapturously — yes,  wildly.  Indeed, 
as  the  reader  will  understand,  it  was  better  received 
than  it  would  have  been  by  the  graduates  whom  Clip- 
sham  thought  he  was  addressing.  Every  one  of  these 
good  fellows  was  pleased  that  one  of  the  most  accom 
plished  men  of  letters  in  Tain  worth  spoke  to  him  as  an 
equal  with  equals.  They  had  only  too  much  of  soldier 
talk,  and  were  glad  to  hear  something  sung  or  said  to 
another  tune.  Clipsham  had  gone  deeper  down  than 
the  average  and  commonplace,  as  he  was  apt  to  do. 

Now  you  would  say  that,  before  he  left  the  hotel,  he 
would  have  found  out  his  mistake,  or  that,  at  all  events, 
he  would  have  understood  it  from  the  newspapers  next 


COLONEL  CLIPSIIAM'S  CALENDAR  85 

morning.  But  there  you  are  quite  wrong.  In  the  first 
place,  he  only  stayed  "  to  listen  to  two  more  speeches," 
as  he  said.  For  it  did  not  seem  courteous  to  go  away 
the  moment  he  had  himself  spoken.  In  fact,  he  did 
not  hear  one  word  of  either  of  them.  As  for  the  news 
papers,  Clipsham  generally  looked  at  them,  though  not 
always.  He  never  looked,  however,  at  what  the  re 
porters  called  their  "  sketches"  of  his  speeches.  "Why 
should  I  make  myself  miserable?"  said  Clipsham. 
"  Nobody  else  reads  the  things,  and  why  should  I?" 
If  he  had  stayed  long  at  his  office  next  morning,  or 
looked  in  at  the  club,  he  might  have  found  that  his 
calendar  was  all  wrong.  But  instead  of  this  he  took 
Dr.  Schmidgruber  to.  examine  the  high -school;  so  he 
remained  quite  sure  that  he  had  spoken  to  the  college 
men  the  night  before,  and  that  to-night  he  was  to  speak 
to  the  carriage-builders.  In  fact,  as  the  reader  knows, 
he  would  meet  the  college  men,  and  the  carriage-build 
ers'  night  would  not  come  till  to-morrow. 

And  it  all  happened  just  as  before,  as  it  says  in  the 
Arabian  Nights  and  in  Grimm's  fairy  tales.  Only  this 
time  Clipsham  sat  at  the  cross  table,  because  he  was  to 
respond  for  Harvard,  and  was  among  the  more  distin 
guished  guests.  But  little  did  the  poor  fellow  know 
what  he  was  to  respond  for.  He  did  know  that  the 
Carriage  -  builders'  Association  of  the  country  brings 
together  a  remarkable  body  of  men.  He  had  dined 
with  them  a  year  or  two  before.  Their  business  re 
quires  an  interest  in  design,  a  knowledge  of  the  physi 
cal  structure  of  the  world,  an  acquaintance  with  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  all  combined  with  remark 
able  tact  and  promptness.  Observe  that  carriage- 


66  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

builders,  like  railroad  men,  are  always  trying  to  an 
nihilate  time,  or  to  give  us  more  of  it,  Avhich  is  the 
same  thing. 

"Ye  shall  become  as  gods— transcendent  fate  !" 

So  Clipsham  knew  he  was  to  speak  to  a  bright  set. 
In  point  of  fact,  he  did  speak  to  the  triennial  gather 
ing  of  the  graduates  of  the  Western  Reserve  College, 
one  of  the  oldest  and  largest  of  the  Western  uniATersi- 
ties.  And  he  told  them  things  which  it  Avas  very  good 
for  them  to  hear,  but  Avhich  people  did  not  very  often 
tell  them  at  these  meetings.  He  told  them  that  man 
is  man,  because  he  can  control  matter  by  spirit ;  that 
this  shoAVs  that  he  is  a  child  of  God.  He  told  them 
that  the  child  of  God  works  Avith  God,  and  that 
here  is  the  difference  between  Avork  and  labor:  that 
Avork  eleATates  man,  Avhile  labor  fatigues  man.  He 
charged  them  to  see  that  the  men  whom  they  employed 
should  not  be  mere  laborers,  but  should  become  felloAv- 
Avorkmen  with  God.  He  said  they  might  rest  from 
their  labors,  but  that  their  Avorks  Avould  always  follow 
them.  And  he  said,  very  seriously,  that  this  Avas  no 
matter  of  book-learning;  that  they  would  not  find  it  in 
Seneca  or  Aristotle,  but  that  they  would  find  it  in  pro 
portion  as  they  Avere  men  of  honor  and  truth,  as  they 
forgot  themselves  and  consecrated  their  workshops 
into  temples. . 

Then  he  sat  doAvn,  and,  just  as  it  was  the  night  be 
fore,  the  speech  AATas  received  Avith  cheers.  The  trutli 
is  that  at  any  such  college  gathering  in  America  the 
men  are  only  playing  at  being  men  of  letters.  Every 
man  of  us  is  a  Avorkman,  or  ought  to  be  ashamed  if  he 


87 

is  not.  As  for  poor  Clipsham,  the  nervous  excitement 
of  speaking  brought  on  a  lit  of  coughing,  and  lie  had 
to  excuse  himself  and  go  home. 

lie  soaked  his  feet  in  hot  water  with  mustard,  put  a 
porous  plaster  on  his  chest,  and  went  to  bed  with  a 
lump  of  sugar  by  his  side  on  which  he  had  dropped 
Aver's  Cherry  Pectoral.  But  he  slept  all  night,  and 
did  not  need  the  sugar. 

Four  days  went  on  in  this  way,  with  four  different  din 
ners.  Nobody  told  Clipsham  he  was  all  wrong,  because 
nobody  knew.  On  the  other  hand,  everybody  thought 
he  was  all  right,  and  said  he  had  never  made  such  good 
speeches  in  his  life.  The  next  night  he  really  went  to 
the  carriage-builders'  dinner.  But  he  thought  he  was  at 
the  annual  meeting  of  the  Chautauquan  Literary  Cir 
cle.  That  is  to  say,  he  thought  he  was  speaking  to  a 
large  company  of  people  who,  in  the  midst  of  every 
sort  of  daily  occupation,  read  regularly  in  a  systematic 
course.  So  in  fact  he  was.  And  the  carriage-builders 
liked  his  speech  all  the  better  that  he  made  no  pretence, 
as  they  said  any  other  lawyer  would  have  done,  to  a 
knowledge  of  their  business.  He  said  nothing  about 
varnish,  or  the  strength  of  ash,  of  which  he  knew  noth 
ing  ;  and  he  did  not  once  allude  to  the  hub  of  the  uni 
verse,  the  wheel  of  time,  the  chariot  of  the  sun,  or  Dr. 
Holmes's  "One-Hoss  Shay,"  which  had  been  worked  to 
death  at  their  celebrations. 


88  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 


IV 

The  two  other  dinners  on  the  calendar  that  week 
were  at  the  joint  anniversary  of  the  Chautauquan  Cir 
cle,  as  has  been  said,  and  at  the  anniversary  of  the 
trustees  of  a  fund  left  for  the  education  of  that  sub- 
tribe  of  Ojibwas  whom  the  first  settlers  had  found 
fishing  on  the  point  which  makes  Tain  worth  harbor. 
These  Ojibwas  had  long  since  gone  where  other  Ojib 
was,  I  fear,  are  going.  But  the  fund  remained,  as 
funds  will,  to  curse  the  descendants  of  the  trustees. 
And  the  only  way  which  had  been  devised  to  use  up 
the  annual  interest  was  to  have  the  trustees  dine  to 
gether,  with  such  of  their  friends  as  wished  to  meet 
them,  after  they  had  chosen  themselves  again  into  office 
at  their  annual  meeting.  At  the  Chautauquan  dinner, 
accordingly,  Clipsham  went  rather  carefully  into  a  dis 
cussion  of  the  movements  of  American  immigration,  and 
the  elements  which  have  contributed  to  the  making  up 
of  American  civilization.  This  was  on  Friday,  and  all 
through  the  week  Clipsham  had  never  forgotten  the 
day  of  the  week,  although  that  mischievous  Gertrude 
had  thrown  him  out  in  the  use  he  made  of  the  several 
days  as  they  came.  Meanwhile  his  cold  grew  no  bet 
ter.  His  deafness  grew  upon  him,  and  he  sent  for  the 
doctor.  The  doctor  told  him  he  must  stay  at  home. 
Clipsham  said  he  could  well  do  that,  that  for  once  there 
was  no  evening  engagement;  and  he  looked  up  the 
serial  called  "  My  Friend  the  Boss,"  which  he  was  read 
ing,  which  was  full  of  allusions  to  his  Tarn  worth 
friends.  Little  did  he  think,  as  he  discussed  the  side- 


COLONEL    CLIPSHAM  S    CALENDAR 

bone  of  the  nice  turkey  his  sister  Prue  had  provided, 
that  the  trustees'  dinner  was  cooling  while  they  await 
ed  his  arrival  at  the  Hotel  Jefferson.  The  truth  was 
that  they  were  entitled  to  that  excuse  which  he  wrote 
at  the  beginning  of  the  week  to  Colonel  Plunkett,  and 
which  Plunkett  still  had,  unread,  in  the  handkerchief 
pocket  of  his  dress  uniform. 

But  all  the  staying  at  home  over  Sunday,  and  all  the 
whiskey  and  glycerine,  and  all  the  Cherry  Pectoral 
which  could  be  administered  did  Clipsham  no  good, 
and  on  Monday  morning  he  asked  the  doctor  if  a 
change  of  air  would  not  help  him.  The  doctor  said  of 
course  it  would.  It  was  clear  it  would  not  harm  him, 
for  he  wras  past  much  harming.  He  was  deaf  as  a 
post ;  his  nose  and  throat  and  all  the  passages  to  them 
were  inflamed,  and  red  with  the  inflammation ;  his  eyes 
were  drooping  with  watering,  and  he  said  he  was  as 
stupid  as  an  owl.  The  doctor  gave  his  permission  for 
a  journey  to  Colorado.  Clipsham  looked  on  his  cal 
endar,  and  with  his  pencil  marked  off  all  the  dinner 
parties,  and  wrote  letters  of  excuse  for  the  next  three 
weeks.  But  there  was  one  engagement  he  could  not 
manage  so  easily,  for  here  his  conscience  pricked  him. 

It  was  the  city  election.  Clipsham  knew  in  his  heart 
of  hearts  that  he  had  not  done  his  duty  in  this  affair. 
He  had  not  gone  to  one  meeting  where  his  friend  Gor 
don  had  summoned  him,  to  obtain  a  competent,  non- 
partisan  school  committee.  He  was  afraid  there  was  a 
"job"  at  the  almshouse,  and  he  had  not  looked  into 
that.  He  distrusted  the  reigning  Mayor,  yet  he  had 
not  lifted  a  finger  to  dethrone  him.  Now  if  he  went 
to  Colorado  he  should  be  away  on  election  day,  and 


90  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

should  not  give  even  one  vote  against  the  rascals  and 
one  in  favor  of  honest  men. 

But  Clipsham  did  so  wish  to  go  to  Colorado !  He 
had  promised  his  cousin  Lucy  that  he  would  visit  her 
on  the  way — and  she  wrote  such  a  pretty  letter  ! 

Clipsham  compromised  with  himself.  He  would  go 
to  Colorado  because  he  wanted  to — and  his  cold  was 
so  bad.  But  he  saw  on  the  calendar  that  on  Monday 
night  there  was  a  meeting  of  the  Friends  of  Good 
Government  at  the  Mechanics'  Hall.  He  knew  who 
called  this  meeting,  and  that  it  was  in  the  right  inter 
est.  John  Fisher  and  all  the  rest  had  signed  the  call. 
He  would  go  to  that  meeting.  That  would  show 
which  side  he  was  on.  He  would  not  go  on  the  noon 
train;  he  would  wait  until  the  evening  train,  which 
went  at  9.30.  And  his  presence  there  would,  in  prac 
tice,  show  his  colors  as  well  as  if  he  stayed  in  Tarn- 
worth  nine  whole  days,  sneezing  and  coughing,  to  vote 
at  the  end  of  them. 

Indeed,  he  might  be  in  his  coffin  if  he  stayed,  and  a 
man  cannot  vote  when  he  is  in  his  coffin. 

So,  when  Monday  came,  Clipsham  sent  his  trunk  to 
the  train,  ordered  a  carriage  for  himself  an  hour  before 
the  train  started,  and  went  down  to  the  hall.  The 
truth  was  that  the  citizens'  meeting  was  not  to  take 
place  until  the  next  night.  But  Gertrude  had  changed 
all  that,  and  Clipsham  found,  to  his  surprise,  that  the 
large  hall  was  not  lighted.  However,  the  smaller  hall 
was.  An  assiduous  gentleman  whom  he  did  not  know, 
who  had  been  drinking  more  than  was  good  for  him, 
asked  him  in ;  and  Clipsham,  regretting  that  the  friends 
of  order  made  so  poor  a  show,  went  in.  As  has  been 


COLONEL  CLIPSHAM'S  CALENDAR  91 

said,  he  was  not  used  to  primary  meetings.  Once  in, 
it  was  like  all  other  meetings,  though  not  very  large. 
There  were  two  hundred  men  there,  of  whom  he  did 
not  recognize  three.  The  president  was  a  man  who 
had  once  tried  to  sell  him  a  horse.  The  Mayor  was 
making  a  speech,  and  Clipsham  supposed  from  this 
that  that  officer  had  been  frightened,  and  was  trying 
to  "get  good,"  as  the  children  say.  But  whether  he 
knew  them  or  not,  they  knew  him.  Three  or  four 
showily  dressed  men  met  him  and  led  him  to  a  front 
seat,  and  expressed  their  pleasure  at  his  presence.  In 
a  moment  after,  the  Mayor's  motion  was  carried,  and  a 
committee  was  sent  out — nominated  from  a  list  which 
had  been  prepared  in  his  office  that  afternoon — to  sug 
gest  a  ticket  for  aldermen. 

Then  it  was  that  another  man,  who  also  had  been 
drinking  more  than  was  good  for  him,  arose  and  said 
that  they  were  honored  by  the  presence  of  a  gentleman 
whom  they  had  often  heard  in  public,  and  who  was 
known  to  be  interested  in  all  public  affairs,  and  that 
he  hoped  Mr.  Clipsham  would  address  them  on  the 
great  issues  before  them ;  and  all  the  people  shouted 
"  Clipsham !  Clipsham !"  Why  he  was  there  the  leaders 
wondered,  but  they  supposed,  in  their  low  way,  that  he 
had  quarrelled  with  John  Fisher  and  his  set,  and  had 
come  over  to  them  to  see  what  they  would  give  him. 

The  truth  was,  as  the  reader  sees,  that  he  had  come 
to  a  meeting  which  was  one  day  earlier  than  the  meet 
ing  which  he  had  meant  to  come  to. 

Clipsham  himself  did  not  hear  the  man  who  spoke, 
and  did  not  know  what  they  were  shouting  at.  But 
when  another  man  came  to  lead  him  to  the  platform 


92 


SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 


he  knew  what  that  meant,  and  he  stepped  up  and  sailed 
in.  And  a  capital  speech  he  made.  It  was  that  speech 
which  put  him  into  what  people  call  public  life.  For 
my  part,  I  think  he  had  been  in  very  public  life  before. 
He  was  pleased  at  being  called  upon  so  early;  he  was 
pleased  at  being  recognized  as  in  some  sort  a  leader ; 
and  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  mounted  the  steps,  that 
this  was  what  he  had  come  for,  and  that,  if  they  wanted 
him  to  lead,  he  had  better  lead.  He  did  not  quite  know 
what  to  do  or  say  about  the  Mayor.  For  here  was  the 
Mayor  at  his  side.  If  he  had  repented  of  the  dirty  jobs 
he  had  been  in,  Clipsham  thought,  he  would  let  him  off; 
and  he  did.  But  he  did  not  let  off  anybody  else  in  that 
meeting.  He  exposed,  from  cellar  to  cupola,  the  dis 
graceful  jobs  about  building  the  new  school-house  op 
posite  Prue  Wintergreen's  house,  and  the  unkind  audi 
ence  howled  with  delight  as  they  saw  Alderman  Bob 
Lyon  and  Councilman  Bill  Stuggs  held  up  under  Clip- 
sham's  pitiless  ridicule.  One  of  these  gentlemen  had 
led  him  to  the  stand,  and  the  other  was  secretary  of  the 
meeting ;  but  this  Clipsham  did  not  know.  Clipsham 
could  see  that  the  assembly  was  a  low-lived  set,  and  mad 
enough  was  he  with  Fisher  and  the  rest  who  had  signed 
the  call  and  then  stayed  comfortably  at  home.  So, 
after  dissecting  every  nasty  job  which  his  hearers  had 
been  engaged  in  for  five  years,  he  closed  with  a  really 
eloquent  denunciation  of  the  indifference  of  educated 
men  and  holders  of  property  in  the  management  of  the 
affairs  of  the  city.  His  own  conscience  pricked  him, 
as  has  been  said,  and  he  spoke  all  the  better  for  that. 
The  closing  passage,  where  he  describes  the  rich  manu 
facturer,  who  could  not  sign  his  name  if  the  public 


COLONEL  CLIPSHAM'S  CALENDAR  93 

schools  had  not  taught  him,  and  could  not  squeeze  on 
a  pay-roll  if  the  public  school  had  not  taught  him,  yet 
who,  when  he  is  rich  and  prosperous,  will  not  go  to  a 
meeting  which  cares  for  the  schools,  and  does  not  know 
a  schoolmaster  when  he  meets  him  in  the  streets,  has 
gone  into  the  reading-books;  and  if  you  will  go  to^the 
graduating  exercises  of  the  Lavinia  Academy  you  may 
hear  it  spoken. 

Well,  that  one  fellow  held  that  angry  assembly  by 
the  mere  force  of  audacity  and  truth,  and  they  did  not 
even  remember  that  they  could  pelt  him  to  death  with 
their  private  gin-bottles  and  other  "  pocket  pistols." 
When  he  had  finished  his  speech  he  did  not  wait  to 
hear  what  followed.  He  did  not  care  to  hear  the  hisses 
nor  curses.  He  did  see  the  scowls,  but  he  had  not  sup 
posed  that  everybody  would  like  his  speech.  He  bowed 
himself  away  from  the  hall,  and  in  half  an  hour  he  was 
asleep  in  his  berth  as  his  train  started  for  the  West. 

By  great  good  luck  it  happened  that  the  chief  short 
hand  man  of  a  newspaper  unfriendly  to  the  crew  had 
been  sent  to  "  do  "  the  meeting.  It  was  supposed  that 
a  square  or  two  of  "  matter"  would  be  all  the  result  of 
his  probing  such  an  ulcer.  But  he  caught  the  position 
in  an  instant.  He  wrote  down  every  word  of  Clip- 
sham's  speech,  and  the  next  morning  Tamworth  and 
the  State  had  it  all.  Such  head-lines ! 

BILL    STUGGS    ENLIGHTENED  ! 

A  LIVELY  CAUCUS ! 

A  CITIZEN'S  PROTEST  ! 

LIGHT     IN    DARK    PLACES  I 


94  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

And  the  public  soon  knew  that,  for  once,  the  little 
coterie  which  had  "run"  Tamworth  for  some  years 
had  been  told  the  truth  by  one  modest,  quiet  gentle 
man,  who  had  no  axe  to  grind  and  no  ring  behind 
him. 

That  man  was  Clipsham.  While  he  Avas  doing  the 
mountains  and  canons  of  Colorado,  events  were  making 
him,  without  the  slightest  suspicion  of  it  himself,  the 
most  popular  man  in  the  State.  So  soon  as  there  was 
a  chance,  the  Friends  of  Good  Government  put  him 
in  nomination  for  Governor  —  and  Governor  he  was 
chosen.  He  will  be  Governor  till  he  wishes  to  go  to 
the  United  States  Senate. 


"  But  who  was  Elinor  May  ?"  asks  my  kind  reader, 
Emma,  who  has  followed  this  little  story  with  the  faith 
fulness  which  has  given  a  charm  to  other  stories,  and 
who  remembers  something  said  in  the  beginning  about 
the  heroine.  My  dear  Emma,  can  there  be  no  story 
without  a  wedding  at  the  end  ?  No,  there  cannot  be, 
if  the  story  is  quite  perfect.  So  you  shall  hear  who 
Elinor  May  was,  for  it  belongs  to  the  calendar  also, 
and  can  be  told  in  a  few  words. 

So  soon  as  Clipsham  had  determined  to  go  to  Colo 
rado,  the  doctor  asked  him  if  he  should  stop  in  St. 
Louis.  He  said  he  certainly  should.  Then  the  doctor 
told  him  that  he  must  call  on  some  friend  of  his  named 
Day,  and  gave  him  the  address.  The  doctor  took  a 
card  and  wrote  on  it :  "  Colonel  George  Clipsham,  intro 
duced  by  Dr.  Jones."  Clipsham  was  lying  on  a  long 


95 

extension  chair,  carefully  wrapped  up  in  a  Zuiii  blanket, 
and  he  asked  the  doctor  to  put  down  the  name  and 
street  on  this  fatal  calendar;  and  there  the  doctor  put 
it,  just  as  Clipsham  bade  him.  Before  Clipsham  started 
upon  his  journey,  he  copied  all  the  lines  from  his  calen 
dar  into  his  pocket-book.  There  was  not  much,  and  he 
did  not  look  at  the  dates.  Thej  came  thus  : 

M.     Speak  at  Caucus. 

Tu.  Stop  over  at  Aunt  Lucy's. 

W.   Day,  999  Olive  Street,     (This  in  the  doctor's  writing  ) 

But  Clipsham  never  noticed  that  the  dates  were 
wrong.  He  copied  the  entries  into  his  own  note-book ; 
and  thus  it  happened,  as  we  say,  that  many  pleasant 
things  followed.  Elinor  and  George  do  not  think  any 
thing  "happened."  They  think  it  was  all  made  in 
heaven.  This  I  know — that  they  had  that  mischievous 
Gertrude  for  their  only  bridesmaid. 

For  so  it  was  that,  on  the  evening  when  Clipsham 
meant  to  call  on  Mrs.  Day  in  St.  Louis,  he  was  in  Chi 
cago.  He  looked  at  his  diary,  and  he  found  this  entry. 
"  How  queer  it  is !''  said  he.  "  I  thought  Jones  said 
these  people  lived  in  St.  Louis'' — as  indeed  Dr.  Jones 
did.  But  Clipsham  had  formed  the  notion  that  his 
memory  was  failing,  so  he  consulted  the  hotel  clerk  as 
to  how  he  should  find  the  street.  The  clerk  never 
heard  of  it,  but  saw  in  a  moment  that  it  should  be 
Ohio  Street,  and  that  Clipsham  had  copied  it  wrong. 
Clipsham  went  to  ISTo.  999,  as  he  thought  he  had  been 
bidden.  Here  he  sent  in  the  card  :  "  Colonel  George 
Clipsham,  introduced  by  Dr.  Jones."  After  a  mo 
ment's  delay  he  was  admitted,  and  a  very  charming 


96  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

lady  came  forward  to  meet  him.  Clipsham  bowed, 
and  said  she  was  very  kind  to  be  so  informal,  and  to 
permit  him  to  be,  but  he  was  a  traveller,  and  had  but 
one  night  in  Chicago ;  and  then  he  was  presented  to 
Elinor,  and  I  think  the  whole  thing  was  pretty  much 
finished  then,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned — and  so  would 
you,  if  you  knew  Elinor  Clipsham  as  well  as  I  do.  Then 
there  was  a  little  inquiry  about  Dr.  Jones.  But  that 
did  not  come  out  very  well.  In  the  first  place,  Clip- 
sham  did  not  hear  very  well.  In  the  second  place,  he 
was  a  good  deal  preoccupied  with  Elinor.  In  the  third 
place,  the  Dr.  Jones  he  was  talking  about  was  the  lead 
ing  physician  of  Tamworth,  and  the  Dr.  Jones  they 
were  asking  about  wras  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jones,  president 
of  the  theological  seminary  at  New  Berea.  But  she 
was  well-bred ;  she  saw  there  was  some  mistake,  and 
she  let  it  pass. 

A  very  pleasant  evening  Clipsham  had.  It  proved 
that  he  heard  Miss  Elinor  much  better  than  he  had 
heard  anybody  for  a  fortnight.  The  journey  had  been 
of  use  already.  Then  they  fell  to  singing  duets,  even 
on  this  slight  acquaintance.  She  plays  a  charming  ac 
companiment,  and  he  sings  admirably  when  he  has  no 
cold.  She  was  tolerant  that  evening,  though  his  voice 
was  all  wrong.  Then,  when  her  father  came  in,  it 
proved  that  they  were  all  going  to  Colorado  Springs 
on  the  next  day  but  one;  and  so  it  was  very  easy  for 
Clipsham  to  make  up  his  mind  that  he  had  business 
which  would  keep  him  over  a  day  in  Chicago.  Al 
though  he  did  not  tell  them  so,  he  made  his  resolution 
to  stay  before  he  left  the  house. 

When  he  had  gone  away,  Elinor's  mother  said  she 


97 

pitied  him  because  he  had  such  a  horrid  cold.  "  But, 
mamma,"  said  Elinor,  "did  you  ever  know  a  cold  make 
a  man  say  '  Day '  instead  of  '  May '  ?  He  kept  calling 
you  '  Mrs.  Day.'  ': 

Mrs.  May  had  not  observed  this ;  but  it  was  even  so. 
As  for  Clipsham,  when  he  met  them  at  the  train,  and 
took  his  seat  with  them  in  the  same  Pullman,  he  was 
no  such  fool  but  that  he  could  see  that  their  seats  were 
taken  for  Mrs.  May,  Mr.  May,  and  Miss  May.  But  then 
he  supposed  the  P.  P.  C,  man  had  written  this  wrong. 
When,  however,  the  names  which  they  had  themselves 
put  on  the  books  with  which  they  travelled  proved  to 
be  May,  Clipsham  gave  up  his  conviction  that  he  knew 
their  names  better  than  they  did.  As  he  went  on,  in 
deed,  he  began  to  be  wondering  whether  he  could  not 
persuade  Miss  Elinor  to  change  hers.  He  was  very 
soon  on  that  plane  of  conversation  where  he  called  her 
•<  Miss  Elinor."  t 

Yes,  a  Pullman  is  a  very  nice  place  when  the  com 
pany  is  good.  They  sang  in  the  twilight,  for  Clip- 
sham's  voice  improved  very  fast,  and  his  hearing  gained 
so  that  he  could  hear  Miss  Elinor,  even  when  she  spoke 
in  very  low  tones  of  experiences  of  hers  which  she 
would  not  care  to  have  that  Russian  merchant  hear 
who  was  on  his  way  to  Alaska.  The  Pullman  people 
had  not  then  advanced  so  far  as  to  have  a  piano  in  the 
car  between  the  saloon  and  the  smoking-room.  But 
these  two  people  found  that  they  could  sing  without 
any  accompaniment.  At  the  stations  Clipsham  always 
managed  to  bring  in  something :  if  there  were  no  flow 
ers  there  were  queer  crullers,  or  if  there  were  no  crullers 
there  were  fossils.  Sometimes  there  was  half  an  hour's 


98  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

detention,  and  then  he  and  Miss  May  would  have  a 
good,  brisk,  constitutional  walk  together. 

Now,  Clipsham  had  mining  interests  in  Colorado,  and 
Mr.  May  had  smelting  interests;  and  while  Mr.  May 
attended  to  the  smelting,  Colonel  Clipsham  would  wait 
with  them.  And  while  Clipsham  inquired  about  the 
mining,  the  Mays  were  not  far  away.  And  the  "  Gar 
den  of  the  Gods"  was  more  divine  than  ever,  when 
they  dismissed  the  carriage  one  evening,  and  under  the 
moonlight  walked  home  together,  while  those  old  di 
vinities  looked  down,  in  still  approval  of  what  these 
younger  people  said  and  did.  Altogether,  the  journey 
out,  and  the  journey  there,  and  the  journey  home,  were 
charming.  Clipsham  never  received  one  newspaper  all 
the  time,  and  he  did  not  dream  that  he  was  growing 
famous.  As  for  the  Mays,  they  never  asked  nor  cared 
whether  he  was  a  public  man  or  a  private  man.  It  was 
enough  for  them  that  Rev.  Dr.  Jones  had  recommended 
him.  Nay,  they  did  not  long  think  of  that.  For,  give 
him  a  chance,  George  Clipsham  is  anywhere  his  best 
recommendation.  He  is  a  modest  man,  but  you  cannot 
be  with  him  a  day  without  seeing  that  he  is  a  brave, 
quiet,  true,  Christian  gentleman.  He  thinks  very  little 
of  himself,  but  is  glad — nay,  eager — if  he  can,  to  make 
other  people  happy  and  good,  and  to  serve  the  world 
where  he  has  a  chance  to  serve  it. 

Nothing,  indeed,  could  have  been  better  or  brighter 
or  more  happy  in  its  results  than  this  Colorado  jour 
ney.  Clipsham  threw  off  his  cold  entirely,  and  before 
the  journey  was  over  he  had  undertaken  to  take  care 
of  Elinor  to  the  end  of  her  days,  if  she  would  let  him. 
She,  on  her  part,  has  taken  such  good  care  of  him  from 


COLONEL  CLIPSHAM'S  CALENDAR  99 

that  day  to  this  that  he  has  never  made  the  wrong 
speech  in  the  wrong  place,  and  he  has  never  had  that 
"horrid  influenza"  again. 

When  he  came  back  to  Tamworth,  in  all  the  exuber 
ance  of  his  new  life,  he  did  manage  to  ask  Dr.  Jones 
how  he  had  contrived  to  write  "Day"  instead  of 
"  May."  For  the  calendar  still  hung  there,  and  there 
was  the  "  D,"  perfectly  plain,  in  the  doctor's  hand 


writing. 


Then  it  was  that  a  thorough  examination  and  ex 
planation  ensued,  and  then  Gertrude,  in  tears,  confessed 
to  her  mother,  for  she,  poor  child,  had  never  forgotten 
her  sin.  But  she  had  perfect  absolution.  A  beautiful 
doll,  open-eyes-shut-eyes,  was  given  her,  and  she  has 
never  been  scolded  from  that  day  to  this. 

You  would  say  that  Clipsham  would  have  called  on 
Mrs.  Day  in  St.  Louis  on  his  first  visit  there.  But  he 
has  never  done  so.  His  wife  says  she  is  afraid  to  have 
him.  lie  says  he  has  found  out  that  there  are  no  nice 
daughters  there. 

Both  he  and  Elinor  bless  Gertrude  every  day  of 
their  lives  for  her  little  experiment  on  his  calendar. 


BREAD    ON    THE   WATERS 


"ONLY  think,  Matty,  papa  passed  right  by  me— 
when  I  was  sitting  with  my  back  to  the  fire  and  stitch 
ing  away  on  his  book-mark,  without  my  once  seeing 
him !  But  he  was  so  busy  talking  to  mamma  that  he 
never  saw  what  I  was  doing,  and  I  huddled  it  under  a 
newspaper  before  he  came  back  again.  Well,  I  have 
got  papa's  present  done,  but  I  cannot  keep  out  of 
mamma's  way.  Matty  dear,  if  I  will  sit  in  the  sun, 
and  keep  a  shawl  on,  may  I  not  sit  in  your  room  and 
work  ?  It  is  not  one  bit  cold  there.  Eeally,  Matty,  it 
is  a  great  deal  warmer  than  it  was  yesterday." 

"Dear  child,"  said  Matty,  to  whom  everybody  came 
so  readily  for  advice  and  help*  u  I  can  do  better  for 
you  than  that.  You  shall  come  into  the  study ;  papa 
will  be  away  all  the  morning,  and  I  will  have  the  fire 
kept  up  there,  and  mamma  shall  never  come  near 
you." 

All  this,  and  a  thousand  times  more,  of  plotting  and 
counterplotting  was  going  on  among  four  children  and 
their  elders  in  a  comfortable,  free -and -easy -seeming 
household  in  Washington,  as  the  boys  and  girls,  young 
men  and  young  women,  were  in  the  last  agonies  of 
making  ready  for  Christmas.  Matty  is  fully  entitled 


BREAD    ON    THE    W.VPSRS;   .">'>  '>>  >  >t>    ;   ;  101 


to  be  called  a  young  woman  when  we  see  her.  She 
has  just  passed  her  twenty-first  birthday.  But  she 
looks  as  fresh  and  pretty  as  when  she  was  seventeen, 
and  certainly  she  is  a  great  deal  pleasanter,  though  she 
be  wiser.  She  is  the  oldest  of  the  troop.  Tom,  the 
next,  is  expected  from  Annapolis  this  afternoon,  and 
Beverly  from  Charlotte.  Then  come  four  boys  and 
girls  whose  ages  and  places  the  reader  must  guess  at 
as  we  go  on. 

The  youngest  of  the  family  were  still  young  enough 
to  write  the  names  of  the  presents  which  they  would 
be  glad  to  receive,  or  to  denote  them  by  rude  hiero 
glyphs,  on  large  sheets  of  paper.  They  were  used  to 
pin  up  these  sheets  on  certain  doors,  which,  by  long 
usage  in  this  free-and-easy  family,  had  come  to  be  re 
garded  as  the  bulletin -boards  of  the  establishment. 
Wellnigh  every  range  of  created  things  had  some  rep 
resentation  on  these  bulletins — from  an  ambling  pony 
round  to  a  "  boot-buttener,"  thus  spelled  out  by  poor 
Laura,  who  was  constantly  in  disgrace,  because  she  al 
ways  appeared  latest  at  the  door  when  the  children 
started  for  church,  to  ride,  or  for  school.  The  young 
sters  still  held  to  the  theory  of  announcing  thus  their 
wants  in  advance.  Horace  doubted  whether  he  were 
not  too  old.  But  there  was  so  much  danger  that  no 
body  would  know  how  much  he  needed  a  jig-saw  that 
he  finally  compromised  with  his  dignity,  vfrote  on  a 
virgin  sheet  of  paper  "  jig-saw,"  signed  his  name,  ''Hor 
ace  Molineux,  December  21,"  and  left  his  other  pres 
ents  to  conjecture. 

And  of  course  at  the  very  end,  as  Santa  Claus  and 
his  revels  were  close  upon  them,  while  the  work  done 


103  ,  SUSAN  S    ESCORT,    AND   OTHERS 

had  been  wonderful,  that  which  we  ought  to  have 
done,  but  which  we  had  left  undone,  was  simply  terri 
ble.  Here  were  pictures  that  must  be  brought  home 
from  the  frame -man,  who  had  never  pretended  he 
would  send  them;  there  were  ferns  and  lycopodiums 
in  pots  which  must  be  brought  home  from  the  green 
house  ;  here  were  presents  for  other  homes,  which  must 
not  only  be  finished,  but  must  be  put  up  in  paper  and 
sent  before  night,  so  as  to  appear  on  other  trees. 
Every  one  of  these  must  be  shown  to  mamma,  and  ap 
proved  by  her,  and  praised ;  and  every  one  must  be 
shown  to  dear  Matty,  and  praised  and  approved  by 
her.  And  yet  by  no  accident  must  Matty  see  her  own 
presents  or  dream  that  any  child  has  remembered  her, 
or  mamma  see  hers  or  think  herself  remembered. 

And  Matty  has  all  her  own  little  list  to  see  to,  while 
she  keeps  a  heart  at  leisure  from  itself  to  soothe  and 
sympathize.  She  had  to  correct  the  mistakes,  to  repair 
the  failures,  to  respect  the  wonder,  to  refresh  the  dis 
couragement  of  each  and  all  the  youngsters.  Her 
own  Sunday  scholars  are  to  be  provided  with  their 
presents.  The  last  orders  are  to  be  given  for  the 
Christmas  dinners  of  half  a  dozen  families  of  vassals, 
mostly  black,  or  of  some  shade  of  black,  who  never 
forgot  their  vassalage  as  Christmas  came  round.  Tur 
key,  cranberry,  apples,  tea,  cheese,  and  butter  must 
be  sent  to  each  household  of  these  vassals,  as  if  every 
member  were  paralyzed  except  in  the  muscles  of  the 
jaw.  But,  all  the  same,  Matty  or  her  mother  must  be 
in  readiness  all  the  morning  and  afternoon  to  receive 
the  visits  of  all  the  vassals — who,  so  far  as  this  form 
of  homage  went,  did  not  seem  to  be  paralyzed  at  all. 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  103 

For  herself,  Matty  took  possession  of  the  dining- 
room  as  soon  as  she  could  clear  it  of  the  breakfast 
equipage,  of  the  children,  and  of  the  servants;  and 
here,  with  pen  and  ink,  with  wrapping-paper  and 
twine,  with  telegraph  blanks  and  with  the  directory, 
and  with  Yenty  as  her  Ariel  messenger — not  so  airy 
and  quick  as  Ariel,  but  quite  as  willing  —  Matty 
worked  her  wonders,  and  gave  her  audiences,  whether 
to  vassals  from  without  or  puzzled  children  from 
within. 

Yenty  was  short  for  Yentidius.  But  this  name, 
given  in  baptism,  was  one  which  Yenty  seldom  heard. 

Matty  corded  up  this  parcel,  and  made  Yenty  cord 
up  that ;  wrote  this  note  of  compliment,  that  of  in 
quiry,  that  of  congratulation,  and  sent  Yenty  on  this, 
that,  and  another  errand  with  them ;  relieved  Flossy 's 
anxieties,  and  poor  Laura's,  in  ways  which  have  been 
described;  made  sure  that  the  wagon  should  be  at  the 
station  in  ample  time  for  Beverly ;  and  at  last,  at 
nearly  one  o'clock,  called  Aunty  Chloe  (who  was  in 
waiting  on  everybody  as  a  superserviceable  person  on 
the  pretence  that  she  was  needed),  bade  Aunty  pick  up 
the  scraps,  sweep  the  floor,  and  bring  the  room  to 
rights.  And  so,  having  attended  to  everybody  beside 
herself,  to  all  their  wishes  and  hopes  and  fears,  poor 
Matty  —  or  shall  I  not  say  dear  Matty? — ran  off  to 
her  own  room  to  finish  her  own  presents  and  make 
her  own  last  preparations. 

She  had  kept  up  her  spirits  as  best  she  could  all  the 
morning,  but  at  any  moment  when  she  was  alone  her 
spirits  had  fallen  again.  She  knew  it,  and  she  knew 
why.  And  now  she  could  not  hold  out  any  longer. 


104 


SUSAN  S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 


She  and  her  mother,  thank  God,  never  had  any  secrets. 
And  as  she  ran  by  her  mother's  door  she  could  not 
help  tapping,  to  be  sure  if  she  had  come  home. 

Yes,  she  had  come  home.  "  Come  in  !"  and  Matty 
ran  in. 

Her  mother  had  not  even  taken  off  her  hat  or  her 
gloves.  She  had  flung  herself  on  the  sofa,  as  if  her 
walk  had  been  quite  too  much  for  her;  her  salts  and 
her  handkerchief  were  in  her  hands,  and  when  she  saw 
it  was  Matty,  as  she  had  hoped  when  she  spoke,  she 
would  not  even  pretend  she  had  not  been  in  tears. 

In  a  moment  Matty  was  on  her  knees  on  the  floor 
by  the  sofa,  and  somehow  had  her  left  arm  round  about 
her  mother's  neck. 

"Dear,  dear  mamma!  What  is  it?  What  is  the 
matter?" 

"  My  dear,  dear  Matty,"  replied  her  mother,  just 
succeeding  in  speaking  without  sobs,  and  speaking  the 
more  easily  because  she  stroked  the  girl's  hair  and 
caressed  her  as  she  spoke,  "  do  not  ask,  do  not  try  to 
know.  You  will  know,  if  you  do  not  guess,  only  too 
soon.  And  now  the  children  will  be  better,  and  papa 
will  get  through  Christmas  better,  if  you  do  not  know, 
my  darling." 

"  ISTo,  dear  mamma,"  said  Matty,  crossing  her  moth 
er's  purpose  almost  for  the  first  time  that  she  remem 
bered,  but  wholly  sure  that  she  was  right  in  doing  so — 
"no,  dear  mamma,  it  is  not  best  so.  Indeed,  it  is  not, 
mamma !  I  feel  in  my  bones  that  it  is  not !"  This  she 
said  with  a  wretched  attempt  to  smile,  which  was  the 
more  ghastly  because  the  tears  were  running  down 
from  both  their  faces, 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  105 

"  You  see,  I  have  tried,  mamma.  I  knew  all  day 
yesterday  that  something  was  wrong,  and  at  breakfast 
this  morning  I  knew  it.  And  I  have  bad  to  hold  up — 
with  the  children  and  all  these  people — with  the  feel 
ing  that  any  minute  the  hair  might  break  and  the 
sword  fall.  And  I  know  I  shall  do  better  if  you  tell 
me.  You  see,  the  boys  will  be  here  before  dark,  and 
of  course  they  will  see ;  and  what  in  the  world  shall  I 
say  to  them  ?" 

"  What,  indeed  !"  said  her  poor  mother.  "  Terrible 
it  is,  dear  child,  because  your  father  is  so  wretched.  I 
have  just  come  from  him.  He  would  not  let  me  stay, 
and  yet  for  the  minute  I  was  there  I  saw  that  no 
one  else  could  come  in  to  goad  him.  Dear,  dear  papa, 
he  is  so  resolute  and  brave,  and  yet  any  minute  I  was 
afraid  that  he  would  break  a  blood-vessel  and  fall  dead 
before  me.  Oh,  Matty,  Matty,  my  darling,  it  is  terri 
ble!" 

And  this  time  the  poor  woman  could  not  control 
herself  longer,  but  gave  way  to  her  sobs,  and  her  voice 
fairly  broke,  so  that  she  was  inarticulate  as  she  lay 
her  cheek  against  her  daughter's  on  the  sofa. 

"What  is  terrible?  Dear  mamma,  you  must  tell 
me !" 

"  I  think  I  must  tell  you,  Matty,  my  darling.  I  be 
lieve  if  I  cannot  tell  some  one  I  shall  die." 

Then  Mrs.  Molineux  told  the  whole  horror  to  Matty. 
Here  was  her  husband  charged  with  the  grossest  plun 
der  of  the  Treasury,  and  charged  even  in  the  House  of 
Representatives  now.  It  had  been  whispered  about 
before,  and  had  been  hinted  at  in  some  of  the  lower 
newspapers,  but  now  even  a  committee  of  invest  iga- 


!06  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHEES 

tion  of  Congress  had  noticed  it,  and  had  "  given  him 
an  opportunity  to  clear  himself."  There  was  no  less  a 
sum  than  forty-seven  thousand  dollars,  in  three  sepa 
rate  payments,  charged  to  him  at  the  Navy  Depart 
ment  as  long  ago  as  the  second  and  third  years  of  the 
war.  At  the  Navy  they  had  his  receipt  for  it.  Not 
that  he  had  been  in  that  department  then  any  more 
than  he  was  now.  He  was  then  chief  clerk  in  the 
Bureau  of  Internal  Improvement,  as  he  was  now  com 
missioner  there.  But  this  was  when  the  second  Eio 
Grande  expedition  was  fitted  out ;  and  from  Mr.  Moli- 
neux's  knowledge  of  Spanish,  and  his  old  connection 
with  the  Santa  Fe  trade,  this  particular  matter  had 
been  intrusted  to  him. 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma !" 

"  Well,  papa  has  it  all  down  in  his  own  cash-book ; 
that  book  he  carries  in  his  breast-pocket.  There  are 
the  three  payments,  and  then  all  the  transfers  he  made 
to  the  different  people.  One  was  that  old  white-haired 
Spaniard  with  the  hair-lip,  who  used  to  come  here  at 
the  back  door,  so  that  he  should  not  be  seen  at  the 
department.  But  it  was  before  you  remember.  The 
others  were  in  smaller  sums.  But  the  whole  thing  was 
done  in  three  weeks,  and  then  the  expedition  sailed, 
and  papa  had  enough  else  to  think  of,  and  has  never 
thought  of  it  since,  till  ten  or  fifteen  days  ago,  when 
somebody  in  the  Eleventh  Auditor's  office  discovered 
this  charge,  and  his  receipt  for  this  money." 

"  Well,  dear  mamma  ?" 

"  Well,  dear  child,  that  is  all,  but  that  now  the  news 
papers  have  got  hold  of  it ;  and  the  Committee  on  Re 
trenchment,  who  are  all  new  men,  with  their  reputa- 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS 


107 


tions  to  make,  have  got  hold  of  it,  and  some  of  them 
really  think,  you  know,  that  papa  has  stolen  the  money !" 
And  she  broke  down,  crying  again. 

"  But  he  can  show  his  accounts,  mamma  !" 
"  What  are  his  accounts  worth  ?  He  must  show  the 
vouchers,  as  they  are  called.  He  must  show  these 
people's  receipts,  and  what  has  become  of  these  people; 
what  they  did  with  the  money.  He  must  show  every 
thing.  Well,  when  the  Copperhead  first  spoke  of  it— 
that  was  a  fortnight  ago— papa  was  really  pleased. 
For  he  said  it  would  be  a  good  chance  to  bring  out  a 
piece  of  war  history.  He  said  that  in  our  bureau  we 
had  never  had  any  credit  for  the  Kio  Grande  successes; 
that  they  were  all  our  thunder ;  because  then  he  could 
laugh  about  this  horrid  thing.  He  said  the  Navy  had 
taken  all  the  honors,  while  we  deserved  them  all.  And 
he  said  if  these  horrid  Copperhead  and  Argus  and  Scor 
pion  people  would  only  publish  the  vouchers  half  as 
freely  as  they  published  the  charges,  we  should  get  a 
little  of  the  credit  that  was  our  due." 

"  Well,  mamma,  and  what  is  the  trouble  now?" 

"  Why,  papa  was  so  sure,  that  he  would  do  nothing 
until  an  official  call  came.  But  on  Monday  it  got  into 
Congress.  That  hairy  man  from  the  Yellowstone 
brought  in  a  resolution  or  something,  and  the  com 
mittee  was  ordered  to  inquire.  And  when  the  order 
came  down,  papa  told  Mr.  Waltsingham  to  bring  him 
the  papers,  and,  Matty,  the  papers  were  not  there  !" 

"  Stolen !"  cried  Matty,  understanding  the  crisis  for 
the  first  time. 

»  Yes — perhaps — or  lost— hidden  somewhere.  You 
have  no  idea  of  the  work  of  those  days — night  work 


108  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

and  all  that.  Many  a  time  your  father  did  not  undress 
for  a  week." 

"  And  now  he  must  remember  where  he  put  a  horrid 
file  of  paper  eleven,  twelve  years  ago.  Mamma,  that 
file  is  stolen.  That  odious  Greenhithe  stole  it.  He 
lives  in  Philadelphia  now,  and  he  has  put  up  these 
newspapers  to  this  lie." 

Mr.  Greenhithe  was  an  under  clerk  in  the  Internal 
Improvement  Bureau,  who  had  shown  an  amount  of 
attention  to  Miss  Matty  which  she  had  disliked  and 
had  refused  to  receive.  She  had  always  said  he  was 
bad,  and  would  come  to  a  bad  end ;  and  when  he  was 
detected  in  a  low  trick,  selling  stationery  which  he 
had  stolen  from  the  supply-room,  and  was  discharged 
in  disgrace,  Matty  had  said  it  was  good  enough  for 
him. 

These  were  her  reasons  for  pronouncing  at  once  that 
he  had  stolen  the  vouchers  and  had  started  the  rumors. 

"  I  do  not  know.  Papa  does  not  know.  He  hardly 
tries  to  guess.  He  says  either  way  it  is  bad.  If  the 
vouchers  are  stolen,  he  is  in  fault,  for  he  is  responsible 
for  the  archives;  if  he  cannot  produce  the  vouchers, 
then  all  the  country  is  down  on  him  for  stealing.  I 
only  hope,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Molineux,  "  that  they  won't 
say  our  poor  old  wagon  is  a  coach  and  six,"  and  this 
time  she  tried  to  smile. 

And  now  she  had  told  her  story.  All  last  night, 
while  the  children  were  asleep,  Mr.  Molineux  had  been 
at  the  office,  even  till  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  taking 
old  dusty  piles  from  their  lairs  and  searching  for  those 
wretched  vouchers.  And  mamma  had  been  waiting — 
shall  one  not  say,  had  been  weeping? — here  at  home. 


BEEAD    ON    THE    WATERS  109 

That  was  the  reason  poor  papa  had  looked  so  haggard 
at  breakfast  this  morning. 

This  was  all  mamma  had  to  tell.  She  had  been  to 
the  office  this  morning,  but  papa  would  not  let  her  stay. 
He  must  see  all  comers,  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
was  happening,  or  was  going  to  happen. 

Well!  Matty  did  make  her  mother  take  off  her 
sacque  and  her  hat  and  her  gloves.  She  even  made  her 
drink  a  glass  of  wine  and  lie  down.  And  then  the 
poor  girl  retired  to  her  own  room,  with  such  appetite 
as  she  might  for  taking  the  last  stitches  in  worsted- 
work  ;  for  stippling  in  the  light  into  drawings ;  for 
writing  the  presentation  lines  in  books ;  and  for  do 
ing  the  thousand  little  niceties  in  the  way  of  finish 
ing  touches  which  she  had  promised  the  children  to 
do. 

Her  dominant  feeling — yes,  it  was  a  dominant  pas 
sion,  as  she  knew — was  simply  rage  against  this  mis 
erable  Greenhithe,  this  cowardly  sneak  who  was  thus 
taking  his  revenge  upon  her  because  she  had  been  so 
cold  to  him.  Or  was  it  that  he  made  up  to  her  because 
he  was  already  in  trouble  at  the  oifice  and  hoped  she 
would  clear  him  with  her  father?  Either  way,  he  was 
a  snake  and  a  scorpion,  but  he  had  worked  out  for 
himself  a  terrible  revenge.  Poor  Matty!  she  tried  to 
think  what  she  could  do,  how  she  could  help,  for  this 
was  the  habit  of  her  life.  But  this  was  hard  indeed. 
Her  mind  would  not  take  that  turn.  All  that  it  would 
turn  to  was  to  the  wretched  and  worse  than  worthless 
question,  what  punishment  might  fall  on  him  for  such 
utter  baseness  and  wickedness  ? 

All  the  same,  the  children  must  have  their  lunch,  and 


110  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

they  must  not  know  that  anything  was  the  matter. 
Oh -clear!  this  concealment  was  the  worst  of  all ! 

So  they  had  their  lunch  ;  and  poor  Matty  counselled 
again,  and  helped  again,  and  took  the  last  stitches  and 
mended  the  last  breaks,  and  waited  and  wondered, 
and  tried  to  hope,  till  at  five  o'clock  an  office  messenger 
came  up  with  this  note : 

"4.45  P.M. 

"  DEAR  MATTY,— I  shall  not  come  up  to  dinner.  There  is  pressing 
work  here.  Tell  mamma  not  to  sit  up  for  me.  I  have  my  key. 

"I  have  had  no  chance  to  get  my  things  for  the  children.  Will 
you  see  to  it  ?  Here  is  twenty  dollars,  and  if  you  need  more  let  them 
send  in  the  bill.  I  had  only  thought  of  that  jig-saw — was  it? — that 
Horace  wants.  See  that  the  dear  fellow  has  a  good  one. 

"  Love  to  Tom  and  Bev.     Ever  your  PAPA." 

"  Poor,  dear  papa !"  said  Matty,  aloud,  shedding  tears 
in  spite  of  herself.  To  be  thinking  of  jig-saws  and  of 
the  children  in  all  this  horrid  hunt !  as  if  hunting  for 
anything  was  not  the  worst  trial  of  all,  always  ;  and  at 
once  the  brave  girl  took  down  her  wraps  and  put  on 
her  walking-shoes,  that  her  father's  commissions  might 
be  met  before  their  six-o'clock  dinner,  and  she  deter 
mined  that,  first  of  all,  she  would  meet  Tom  at  the 
station. 

At  the  station  she  met  Tom.  That  was  well.  Matty 
had  not  been  charged  to  secrecy.  That  was  well.  She 
bade  Tom  send  up  his  valise  and  walk  up  the  avenue 
with  her,  and  he  did.  She  told  him  all  the  story,  not 
without  adding  her  suspicions  and  giving  him  some 
notion  of  her  rage. 

And  Tom  was  angry  enough ;  there  was  a  crumb  of 
comfort  there.  But  Tom  went  off  on  another  track. 


BEE  AD    ON    THE    WATERS  111 

Tom  disbelieved  the  Navy  Department ;  he  had  been 
long  enough  at  Annapolis  to  doubt  the  red-tape  of  the 
bureau  with  which  his  chiefs  had  to  do.  "If  the  Navy 
paid  the  money,  the  Navy  had  the  vouchers."  That 
was  Tom's  theory.  He  knew  a  chief  clerk  in  the  Navy, 
and  Tom  was  for  going  at  once  round  there. 

But  Matty  held  him  in  check,  at  least  for  the  mo 
ment.  Whatever  else  he  did,  he  must  come  home  first. 
He  must  see  mamma,  and  he  must  see  the  children, 
and  he  must  have  dinner.  She  had  not  told  him  yet 
how  well  he  looked  and  how  handsome  he  was.  And 
there  were  a  few  minutes  as  they  walked  homeward, 
and  he  must  help  her  about  the  jig-saw  and  some  other 
things  for  the  children.  Ah !  happy  she  would  have 
been  last  Monday  had  anybody  given  her  twenty  dol 
lars,  with  carte-llancke  for  spending  it ;  and  now,  how 
wretched  it  all  was !  But,  all  the  same,  the  jig-saw 
was  bought,  and  mamma  and  Beverly  and  Laura  and 
Florence — indeed,  everybody  but  Tom  and  Matty  her 
self — were  cared  for  out  of  this  hateful  twenty-spot — 
hateful,  though  it  were  so  kind. 

And  they  came  home  to  dinner.  And  as  dinner 
closed,  Beverly  came  in,  noisy  and  cheery,  from  the 
Southern  train,  and  he  found  his  dinner  ready.  And 
after  Tom  had  seen  him,  Tom  slipped  off — pretended 
he  had  unfinished  preparations  to  make.  Tom  went 
right  to  the  department,  forced  his  way  in,  because  he 
was  Mr.  Molineux's  son,  and  found  his  poor  father 
with  Ziegler,  the  chief  clerk,  still  on  this  wretched  and 
fruitless  overhauling  of  the  old  files.  Tom  stated 
frankly,  in  his  offhand  and  businesslike  way,  what 
his  theory  was.  Neither  Ziegler  nor  Tom's  father  be- 


112  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

lieved  in  it  in  the  least.  Tom  knew  nothing,  they 
said.  The  Navy  paid  the  money,  but  the  Navy  was 
satisfied  with  our  receipt,  and  should  be.  Tom  con 
tinued  to  say,  "  If  the  Navy  paid  the  money,  the  Navy 
must  have  the  vouchers,"  and  at  last,  more  to  be  rid  of 
him  than  with  any  hope  of  the  result,  Mr.  Molineux  let 
the  eager  fellow  go  round  to  his  friend  Eben  Eicketts 
and  see  if  Eben  would  not  give  an  hour  or  two  of  his 
Christmas-eve  to  looking  up  the  things.  Mr.  Molineux 
even  went  so  far  as  to  write  a  frank  line  to  Mr.  Eick 
etts,  and  enclosed  a  letter  which  he  had  had  that  day 
from  the  chairman  of  the  House  committee — a  letter 
which  was  smooth  enough  in  the  language,  but  horribly 
rough' in  the  thing. 

Ah  me  !  Had  not  Eicketts  read  already  in  the  Even 
ing  Lantern  a  terrible  attack  on  Molineux,  stating  that 
he  had  not  appeared  before  the  committee  at  noon,  be 
cause  he  had  not  dared  ;  and  that  the  committee  itself 
deserved  to  be  impeached  because  Mr.  Molineux  was 
not  already  under  arrest.  "  But  if  a  purblind  commit 
tee  thus  sleeps  at  the  post  of  duty,  an  Argus-eyed  press 
and  an  awakened  country,"  etc.,  etc.,  to  the  end  of  that 
chapter.  Eben  Eicketts  had  read,  and  was  willing,  if 
he  could,  to  serve. 

So  he,  with  Tom,  went  round  and  found  a  Navy  De 
partment  messenger,  and  opened  and  lighted  up  the 
necessary  rooms,  and  there  they  spent  six  hours  of 
their  night  before  Christmas. 

Meanwhile  Beverly  finished  his  fruit,  had  a  frolic 
with  the  children,  and  then  called  his  mother  and  Mat 
ty  away  from  them. 

"What  in  thunder  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  poor  boy. 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  113 

And  they  told  him.  How  could  they  help  telling 
him  ?  And  so  soon  as  the  story  was  finished  the  boy 
had  his  coat  on,  and  was  pulling  on  his  boots.  He 
went  right  down  to  his  father's  office  ;  he  made  old 
Stratton  admit  him,  and  told  his  father  he  had  re 
ported  for  duty. 

Neither  of  them  had  come  home  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  Mrs.  Molineux  and  Matty  got  such  sleep 
as  may  be  imagined.  The  children  were  only  crazy  to 
know  what  Santa  Glaus  would  put  in  their  stockings. 

And  so  went  by  the  eve  of  Christmas  for  that  fam- 


II.  —  CHRISTMAS    MORNING 

And  at  last  Christmas  morning  dawned,  gray  enough 
and  grim  enough. 

In  that  house  the  general  presenting  Avas  reserved 
for  evening,  after  dinner,  when  in  olden  days  there  had 
always  been  a  large  Christmas-tree  lighted  and  dressed 
for  the  children  and  their  little  friends.  As  the  chil 
dren  had  grown  older  and  the  trees  at  the  Sunday-school 
and  elsewhere  had  grown  larger,  the  family  tree  had 
grown  smaller;  and  on  this  day  was  to  be  simply  a 
typical  tree,  a  little  suggestion  of  a  tree,  between  the 
front  windows,  while  most  of  the  presents  of  every  sort 
and  kind  were  to  be  dispersed  —  where  room  could  be 
made  for  them  —  in  any  part  of  the  front  parlors.  All 
the  grand  ceremonial  of  present-giving  was  thus  re 
served  to  the  afternoon  of  Christmas,  because  then  it 
was  certain  papa  would  be  at  home,  Tom  and  Beverly 
would  both  be  ready,  and.  indeed,  as  the  little  people 


114 

confessed,  they  themselves  would  have  more  chance  to 
be  quite  ready. 

But  none  the  less  was  the  myth  of  Santa  Glaus  and 
the  stoekings  kept  up,  although  that  was  a  business  of 
less  account,  and  one  in  which  the  children  themselves 
had  no  share,  except  to  wonder,  to  enjoy,  and  to  re 
ceive.  You  will  observe  that  there  is  a  duality  in  most 
of  the  enjoyments  of  life ;  that  if  you  have  a  long- 
expected  letter  from  your  brother  who  is  in  Yokoha 
ma,  by  the  same  mail  or  the  next  mail  there  comes  a 
letter  from  your  sister  who  is  in  Cawnpore.  And  so  it 
was  of  Christmas  at  this  Molineux  house.  Besides  the 
great  wonders,  like  those  wrought  out  by  Aladdin's 
slave  of  the  lamp,  there  were  the  wonders,  less  gigantic 
but  not  less  exquisite,  of  the  morning  hours,  wrought 
out  by  the  slave  of  the  ring.  How  this  series  of  won 
ders  came  about  the  youngest  of  the  children  did  not 
know,  but  were  still  imaginative  enough,  and  truly 
wise  enough,  not  to  inquire. 

While,  then,  the  two  young  men  and  their  father 
were  at  one  or  the  other  department,  now  on  step-lad 
ders  handing  down  dusty  old  pasteboard  boxes,  now 
under  gaslights  running  down  long  indexes  with  in 
quiring  fingers  'and  unwinking  eyes,  Matty  and  her 
mother  watched  and  waited,  till  eleven  o'clock  came, 
not  saying  much  of  what  was  in  the  hearts  of  both, 
but  sometimes  just  recurring  to  it,  as  by  some  invisible 
influence — an  influence  which  would  overcome  both  of 
them  at  the  same  moment.  For  the  mother  and  daugh 
ter  were  as  two  sisters,  not  parted  far,  even  in  age,  and 
not  parted  at  all  in  sympathy.  For  occupation  they 
were  wrapping  up  in  thin  paper  a  hundred  barley  dogs, 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  115 

cats,  eagles,  locomotives,  suns,  moons,  and  stars,  with 
little  parcels  of  nuts,  raisins  and  figs,  large  red  apples, 
and  bright  Florida  oranges— all  of  which  were  destined 
to  be  dragged  out  of  different  stockings  at  daybreak. 

"And  now,  dear,  dear  mamma,"  said  Matty,  "you 
will  go  to  bed — please  do,  dear  mamma !"  This  was 
said  as  she  compelled  the  last  obstinate  eagle  to  accept 
his  fate  and  stay  in  his  wrapping-paper,  from  which  he 
had  more  than  once  struggled  out,  with  the  instincts  of 
freedom.  "  Please  do,  dear  mamma ;  I  will  sort  these 
all  out,  and  will  be  quite  sure  that  each  has  his  own. 
At  least,  let  us  come  up-stairs  together.  I  will  comb 
your  hair  for  you — that  is  one  of  the  little  comforts. 
And  you  shall  get  into  bed,  and  see  me  arrange  them, 
and  if  I  do  wrong  you  can  tell  me." 

Poor  mamma,  she  yielded  to  her,  as  who  does  not 
yield,  and  because  it  was  easier  to  go  up-stairs  than  to 
stay.  And  the  girl  led  her  up  and  made  herself  a  toilet- 
woman  indeed,  and  did  put  her  worn-out  mamma  into 
bed,  and  then  hurried  to  the  laundry,  where  she  was 
sure  she  could  find — what  Diana  had  been  bidden  to  re 
serve  there — a  pair  of  clean  stockings  belonging  to  each 
member  of  the  family.  The  youngest  children,  alas ! 
who  would  need  the  most  room  for  their  spread  eagles 
and  sugar  locomotives,  had  the  smallest  feet  and  legs. 
But  nature  compensates  for  all  things,  and  Matty  did 
not  fail  to  provide  an  extra  pair  of  her  mother's  longest 
stockings  for  each  of  "  the  three,"  as  the  youngest  wrere 
called  in  the  councils  of  their  elders.  So  a  name  was 
printed  by  Santa  Glaus  on  a  large  red  card  and  pinned 
upon  each  receptacle,  FLOSSY  or  LAURA,  while  all  were 
willing  to  accept  of  his  bounties  contained  within,  even 


116  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

if  they  did  not  recognize  yarn  or  knitting  as  familiar. 
Matty  hurried  back  with  their  treasures.  She  brought 
from  her  own  room  the  large  red  tickets,  already  pre 
pared,  and  then,  on  the  floor  by  her  mother's  side,  as 
sorted  the  innumerable  parcels,  and  filled  each  stocking 
full. 

Dear  girl !  she  had  not  wrongly  guessed.  There  was 
just  occupation  enough,  and  just  little  enough,  for  the 
poor  mother's  anxious  tired  thought.  Matty  was  wise. 
She  asked  fewer  and  fewer  questions ;  fewer  and  fewer 
she  made  her  journeys  to  the  great  high  fender,  where 
she  pinned  all  these  stiff  models  of  gouty  legs.  And 
when  the  last  hung  there  quietly,  the  girl  had  the  ex 
quisite  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  her  mother  was  fast 
asleep.  She  would  not  leave  the  room.  She  turned 
the  gaslight  down  to  a  tiny  bead.  She  slipped  off  her 
own  frock,  put  on  her  mother's  heavy  dressing-gown, 
lay  down  quietly  by  her  side  without  rousing  her,  and 
in  a  little  while — for  with  those  so  young  this  resource 
is  wellnigh  sure — she  slept  too. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  she  was  wakened  by  her 
father's  hand.  He  led  her  out  into  his  own  dressing- 
room,  and  before  she  spoke  she  kissed  him ! 

She  knew  what  his  answer  would  be.  She  knew 
that  from  his  heavy  face.  But,  all  the  same,  she  tried 
to  smile,  and  she  said  : 

"  Found  ?" 

" Found?  No,  no,  dear  child,  nor  ever  will  be.  How 
is  mamma  ?"  % 

And  Matty  told  him,  and  begged  him  to  come  and 
sleep  in  her  own  little  room,  because  the  children  would 
come  in  in  a  rout  at  daybreak.  But  no,  he  would  not 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  117 

hear  to  that.  "  Whatever  else  is  left,  dear  Matty,  we 
have  each  other.  And  we  will  not  begin— on  what  will 
be  a  new  life  to  all  of  us — we  will  not  begin  by  'bating 
a  jot  of  the  dear  children's  joys.  Matty,  that  is  what 
I  have  been  thinking  of  all  the  way  as  I  walked  home. 
But  maybe  I  should  not  have  said  it  but  that  Beverly 
said  it  just  now  to  me.  Dear  fellow,  I  cannot  tell  you 
the  comfort  it  was  to  me  to  see  him  come  in !  I  told 
him  he  should  not  have  come,  but  he  knew  that  he 
made  me  almost  happy.  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  Matty, 
and  all  night  long  he  has  shown  the  temper  and  the 
sense  of  a  man." 

For  a  moment  Matty  could  not  say  a  word.  Her 
eyes  were  all  running  over  with  tears.  She  kissed  her 
father  again,  and  then  found  out  how  to  say,  "  I  shall 
tell  him  what  you  say,  papa,  and  there  will  be  two 
happy  children  in  this  house,  after  all." 

So  she  ran  to  Beverly's  room,  found  him  before  he 
was  undressed,  and  told  him.  And  the  boy  who  was 
just  becoming  a  man,  and  the  girl  who,  without  know 
ing  it,  had  become  a  woman,  kissed  each  other;  held 
each  other  for  a  minute,  each  by  both  hands ;  looked 
each  other  so  lovingly  in  the  eyes,  comforted  each  other 
by  the  infinite  comfort  of  love,  and  then  said  good 
night,  and  were  asleep.  Tom  had  stolen  to  bed,  with 
out  waking  his  mother  or  his  sister,  some  hours  before. 

Yes,  they  all  slept.  The  little  ones  slept,  after  all 
their  being  so  certain  that  they  should  not  sleep  one 
wink  from  anxiety.  This  poor  jaded  man  slept  because 
he  must  sleep.  His  poor  wife  slept  because  she  had 
not  slept  now  for  two  nights  before.  And  Matty,  and 
Tom,  and  Beverly  slept  because  they  were  young,  and 


118 

brave,  and  certain,  and  pure,  and  because  they  were 
between  seventeen  and  twenty-two  years  of  age.  This 
is  all  to  say  that  they  could  seek  God's  help  and  find  it. 
This  is  to  say  that  they  were  wellnigh  omnipotent  over 
earthly  ills — so  far,  at  the  least,  that  sleep  came  when 
sleep  was  needed. 

But  not  after  seven  o'clock.  Yenty  and  Diana  had 
been  retained  by  Flossy  and  Laura  to  call  them  at  five 
minutes  of  seven,  and  Laura  and  Flossy  had  called  the 
others.  And  at  seven  o'clock,  precisely,  a  bugle-horn 
sounded  in  the  children's  quarters,  and  then  four  gro 
tesque  riders,  each  with  a  soldier-cap  made  of  news 
paper,  each  with  a  bright  sasH  girt  round  a  dressing- 
gown,  each  with  bare  feet  stuck  into  stout  shoes,  came 
storming  down  the  stairs,  and,  as  soon  as  the  lower 
floor  was  reached,  each  mounted  on  a  hobby-horse  or 
stick,  and,  with  riot  not  to  be  told,  came  knocking  at 
Matty's  door,  at  Beverly's,  and  at  Tom's.  And  these 
all  appeared,  also  with  paper  soldier- hats  upon  their 
heads  and  girt  in  some  very  spontaneous  costume,  and 
so  the  whole  troupe  proceeded  with  loud  fanfaron  and 
drum- beat  to  mamma's  door,  and  knocked  for  admis 
sion,  and  heard  her  cheery  "Come  in."  And  papa 
and  mamma  had  heard  the  bugle-calls,  and  had  wrap 
ped  some  sort  of  shawls  around  their  shoulders,  and 
were  sitting  up  in  bed,  they  also  with  paper  soldier- 
hats  upon  them ;  and  one  scream  of  "  Merry  Christ 
mas  !"  resounded  as  the  doors  flew7  open ;  and  then  a 
wild  ravage  of  kissing  and  hugging  as  the  little  ones 
rushed  for  the  best  places  they  could  find  on  the  bed, 
not  to  say  in  it.  This  was  the  Christmas  custom. 

And  Tom  rolled  up  a  lounge  on  one  side  of  the  bed, 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  119 

which,  after  a  fashion,  widened  it ;  and  Beverly  brought 
up  his  mother's  easy-chair,  which  had  earned  the  name 
of  "Moses'  seat,"  on  the  other  side ;  and  thus  in  a  min 
ute  the  great  broad  bed  was  peopled  with  the  whole 
family — as  jolly,  if  as  absurd,  a  sight  as  the  rising  sun 
looked  upon.  And  then  Flossy  and  Beverly  were  de 
puted  to  go  to  the  fender  and  to  bring  the  crowded, 
stiff  stockings,  whose  crackle  was  so  delicate  and  ex 
quisite.  And  so,  youngest  by  youngest,  they  brought 
forth  their  treasures —not  indeed  gold,  frankincense, 
and  myrrh,  but  what  answered  the  immediate  purposes 
better:  barley  cats,  dogs,  elephants,  and  locomotives; 
figs,  raisins,  walnuts,  and  pecans. 

Yes,  and  for  one  noisy  half -hour  not  one  person 
thought  of  the  cloud  which  hung  over  the  house  only 
the  night  before ! 

But  such  happy  forgetfulness  cannot  last  forever. 
There  was  the  Christmas  breakfast.  And  Tom  tried 
to  tell  of  Academy  times,  and  Beverly  tried  to  tell 
stories  of  the  University.  But  it  was  a  hard  pull. 
The  lines  under  papa's  eyes  were  only  too  dark.  And 
all  of  a  sudden  he  would  start,  and  ask  just  the  wrong- 
question.  Matty  had  put  the  newspapers  out  of  the 
way.  Not  that  she  had  looked  at  them,  but  the 
chances  were  too  bad  but  that  there  would  be  some 
thing  cruel  about  the  investigation.  And  nobody 
asked  for  the  papers !  That  was  perhaps  the  strangest 
thing  of  all.  And  poor  blundering  Laura  must  needs 
say  "  That  is  the  good  of  Christmas,  that  there  are  no 
horrid  newspapers  for  people  to  bother  with,"  when 
everybody  above  Horace's  age  knew  that  there  were 


120  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

papers  somewhere  ;  and  soon  Horace  was  big  enough  to 
see — what  he  had  not  been  told  in  words — that  some 
thing  was  going  wrong. 

And  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  done  Flossy  cried  out, 
"  And  now  papa  will  tell  us  the  story  of  the  bear ! 
Papa  always  tells  us  that  on  Christmas  morning.  Laura, 
you  shall  come  ;  and,  Horace,  you  shall  sit  there."  And 
then  her  poor  papa  had  to  take  her  up  and  kiss  her  and 
say  that  this  morning  he  could  not  stop  to  tell  stories, 
that  he  had  to  go  to  the  department.  And  then  Flossy 
and  Laura  fairly  cried.  It  was  too  bad.  They  hated 
the  department.  There  never  could  be  any  fun  but  what 
that  horrid  old  department  came  in.  And  when  Hor 
ace  found  that  Tom  was  going  to  the  department  too, 
and  that  Bev  meant  to  go  with  him,  he  was  mad,  and 
said  he  did  not  see  what  was  the  use  of  having  Christ 
mas.  Here  he  had  tin-foil  and  plaster  up-stairs,  and 
little  Watrous  had  lent  him  a  set  of  Government  medals, 
and  they  should  have  such  a  real  good  time  if  Bev 
would  only  stay.  He  wished  the  department  was  at 
the  bottom  of  the  Potomac.  Matty  fairly  had  to  take 
the  scolding  boy  out  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Molineux,  poor  fellow,  undertook  the  soothing 
of  Flossy.  "  Anyway,  old  girl,  you  shall  meet  me  as 
you  go  to  church,  and  we  will  go  through  the  avenue 
together,  and  I  will  show  you  the  new  Topsy  girl  sell 
ing  cigars  at  Pierre's  tobacco-shop.  She  is  as  big  as, 
Flossy.  She  has  not  got  quite  such  golden  hair,  but 
she  never  says  one  word  to  her  papa,  because  she  is 
never  cross  to  him." 

"  That's  because  he  is  never  kind  to  her,"  said  the 
quick  child,  speaking  wiser  than  she  knew. 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  121 

For  Matty,  she  got  a  word  with  Tom,  and  he  too 
promised  that  they  would  be  away  from  the  depart 
ment  in  time  to  meet  the  home  party,  and  that  all  of 
them  should  go  to  church  together. 

And,  accordingly,  as  Mrs.  Molineux  with  her  little 
troop  crossed  F  Street  they  met  the  gentlemen  all  com 
ing  towards  them.  They  broke  up  into  groups,  and 
Tom  and  Matty  got  their  first  real  chance  for  talk 
since  they  had  parted  the  night  before.  No !  Tom  had 
found  no  clew  at  the  Navy  Department.  And  al 
though  Eben  Ricketts  had  been  good  as  gold,  and  had 
stayed  and  worked  with  Tom  till  long  after  midnight, 
Eben  had  only  worked  to  show  good-will,  for  Eben 
had  not  the  least  faith  that  there  was  any  clew  there. 
Eben  had  said  that  if  old  Mr.  Whilthaugh,  who  knew 
the  archive  rooms  through  and  through,  had  not  been 
turned  out,  they  could  do  in  fifteen  minutes  what  had 
cost  them  six  hours,  and  that  old  Mr.  Whilthaugh, 
without  looking,  could  tell  whether  it  was  worth  while 
to  look.  But  old  Mr.  Whilthaugh  had  been  turned 
out,  and  Eben  even  did  not  know  precisely  what  had 
become  of  him.  He  thought  he  had  gone  back  into 
Pennsylvania,  where  his  wife  came  from,  but  he  did 
not  know. 

"But,  Matty,  if  nothing  turns  up  to-day  I  go  to 
Pennsylvania  to-morrow  to  find  this  old  Mr.  Whilt 
haugh.  For  I  shall  die  if  I  stay  here ;  and  all  the 
Eben  Eickettses  in  the  world  will  never  persuade  me 
that  the  vouchers  are  not  in  that  archive  room.  If  the 
Navy  did  the  work,  the  Navy  must  have  the  vouchers." 

Then  Matty  ventured  to  ask,  what  she  and  her  moth 
er  had  wondered  about  once  and  again,  why  these  par- 


122  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

ticular  bits  of  paper  were  so  necessary.  Surely  other 
vouchers,  or  certified  copies,  or  books  of  account  could 
be  found  somewhere  ! 

uYes;  I  knew  you  would  say  so.  And  if  it  were 
all  yesterday,  and  were  all  in  these  lazy  times  of  peace, 
you  would  say  true.  But,  you  see,  in  the  first  place, 
this  is  ever  so  long  ago.  Then,  in  the  second  place,  it 
was  in  the  heat  of  war,  when  everything  was  on  a  gi 
gantic  scale,  and  things  had  to  be  done  in  unheard-of 
ways.  Then,  chiefly,  this  particular  business  involved 
the  buying  up  of  I  do  not  know  who  among  the  rebels 
in  Texas,  and  among  their  allies  on-  the  other  side  the 
Rio  Grande.  This  old  Spaniard,  whom  mamma  re 
members,  and  whom  I  just  remember,  he  was  the  chief 
captain  among  the  turncoats,  and  there  were  two  or 
three  others,  F.  F.  men,  in  their  places — '  First  Family 
men,'  that  means,  you  know — but  after  they  did  this 
work  they  did  not  stay  in  their  places  long.  No,  papa 
says  he  was  mighty  careful ;  that  he  had  three  of  the 
scoundrels  sworn  before  notaries,  or  rather  before  one 
notary,  and  had  their  receipts  and  acknowledgments 
stamped  with  his  notary's  seal.  Still,  it  did  not  do  to 
have  a  word  said  in  public  then.  And  after  everything 
succeeded  so  perfectly,  after  the  troops  landed  with 
out  a  shot,  and  found  all  the  base  ready  for  them— corn 
and  pork,  and  just  where  they  wanted  it — why,  then 
everybody  was  too  gratified  to  think  of  imagining  that 
papa  had  stolen  the  money  that  bought  the  pork  and 
the  corn." 

"  I  wish  they  were  only  half  as  grateful  now,"  he 
said,  after  a  pause. 

"  Tom,"  said  Matty,  eagerly, "  who  was  that  notary?" 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  123 

"I  thought  of  that  too,"  said  Tom.  "There  is  no 
doubt  who  it  was;  it  was  old  Gilbert.  You  must  re 
member  his  sign,  just  below  Faulkner's,  on  the  avenue. 
But,  in  the  first  place,  Gilbert  died  just  after  our  reach 
ing  Kichmond.  In  the  second  place,  he  never  knew 
what  the  papers  were ;  and  he  executed  twenty  such 
sets  of  papers  every  day,  very  likely.  All  he  could 
say,  at  the  very  best,  would  be  that  at  such  a  time  fa 
ther  brought  in  an  old  Spaniard  and  two  or  three  other 
Greasers,  and  that  he  took  their  acknowledgments  of 
something." 

"  I  do  not  know  that,  Tom,"  said  the  girl,  without 
flinchino-  at  his  mannish  information.  "If  notaries  in 

o 

Washington  are  anything  like  notaries  in  novels,  that 
man  kept  a  record  or  register  of  his  work.  If  he  was 
not  very  unlike  everybody  else  who  lives  and  works 
here,  he  left  a  very  destitute  widow  when  he  died. 
Tom,  I  shall  go  after  church  and  hunt  up  the  widow 
Gilbert.  I  shall  ask  her  for  her  husband's  books,  and 
shall  tell  her  why  I  want  them." 

The  girl  dropped  her  voice  and  said :  "  Tom,  I  shall 
ask  her  IN  His  NAME." 

"  God  grant  it  does  any  good,  dear  girl,"  said  he. 
"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  that  you  shall  not  try- 
But  here  he  stopped  speaking,  for  he  felt  Matty's  arm 
shake  in  his,  and  her  whole  frame  trembled.     Tom  had 
only  to  keep  his  eyes  before  him  to  see  why. 

Mr.  Greenhithe,  Matty's  old  admirer,  the  clerk  who 
had  been  dismissed  for  stealing,  was  standing,  impu 
dent,  on  the  steps  of  the  church,  and  even  touched  his 
hat  to  her  as  she  went  by. 

Tom  resisted  his  temptation  to  thrash  him  then  and 


124  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 

there.  He  led  his  sister  within  the  door  of  the  church, 
but  did  not  go  in  with  the  others.  He  took  her  on 
one  side,  under  the  gallery  stairs. 

"  Matty,  I  believe  I  will  tackle  that  man !" 

"  Oh,  fora !" 

u  Yes,  Matty,  I  can  keep  my  temper,  and  he  cannot 
keep  his.  He  has  one  advantage  over  most  knaves, 
that  he  is  not  only  a  knave  of  the  first  water,  but  he  is 
sometimes  a  fool,  too.  If  it  were  only  decent  and  right 
to  take  him  into  Downing's  saloon  and  give  him  just 
one  more  glass  of  whiskey  than  the  blackguard  would 
care  to  pay  for,  I  could  get  at  his  whole  story." 

"  But,  Tom,  I  thought  you  were  so  sure  the  Navy 
had  the  papers !" 

"  Well,  well !"  said  Tom,  a  little  annoyed,  as  eager 
people  are  when  other  eager  people  remember  their 
words  against  them,  "  I  was  sure — I  was  wholly  sure — 
till  I  left  Eben  Ricketts  last  night.  But  after  that — 
well,  of  course  we  ought  to  pull  every  string." 

"Tom!"  (this  with  a  terrible  gulp)— "Tom,  you  don't 
think  I  ought  to  speak  with  him  ?" 

"  Matty !" 

"  Why,  Tom,  yes ;  if  he  does  know — if  he  is  holding 
this  up  in  terror,  Tom,  I  could  make  him  do  what  I 
chose  once,  Tom.  You  don't  think  I  ought  to  try  ?" 

"  Matty,  if  you  ever  speak  to  that  snake  again  I  will 
thrash  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  and  I  will  never 
say  a  word  to  you  as  long  as  you  live !" 

"  That's  my  dear  Tom !"  And,  hidden  as  they  were 
under  the  stairs,  and  crying  as  she  was  under  her  veil, 
she  flung  her  arms  around  him  and  kissed  him. 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Tom,  after  he  had  kissed  her 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS 


125 


again  and  again — "  all  the  same,  I  shall  find  out,  after 
church,  where  the  snake  is  staying.  I  shall  go  to  the 
hotel  and  take  a  cigar.  I  shall  offer  him  one,  and  he 
is  so  mean  and  stingy  that  he  will  take  it.  Perhaps 
this  may  be  one  of  his  fool-days.  Perhaps  somebody 
else  will  treat  him  to  the  whiskey.  No,  Matty,  honor 
bright!  /  will  not,  though  that  ten  cents  might  give  us 
all  a  merry  Christmas.  Honor  bright,  I  will  not  treat! 
But  I  am  not  a  saint,  Matty !  If  anybody  else  treats, 
I  must  not  be  expected  to  be  far  away." 

Then  he  wiped  her  eyes  with  his  own  handkerchief 
and  led  her  into  church.  Their  own  pew  was  already 
full.  He  had  to  take  her  back  into  Dr.  Metcalf  s  pew. 
So  Matty  was  spared  one  annoyance  which  was  pre 
pared  for  her. 

Directly  in  front  of  her  father's  pew,  sitting  in  the 
most  conspicuous  seat  on  the  other  side  of  the  aisle, 
was  the  hateful  Mr.  Greenhithe.  Had  he  put  him 
self  there  to  watch  Matty's  face?  If  he  did,  he 
was  disappointed.  If  he  had  persuaded  himself  he 
was  to  see  a  pale  cheek  or  tearful  eyes,  or  that  he 
was  going  to  compel  her  to  drop  her  veil,  he  had 
reckoned  quite  without  his  host.  Whenever  he  did 
look  that  way  all  he  saw  was  the  face  of  Horace. 
Horace  was  engaged  in  counting  the  large  tassels  on 
his  side  of  the  pulpit  curtains;  in  counting,  also,  the 
number  of  small  tassels  between  them,  and,  from  the 
data  thus  obtained,  in  calculating  how  many  tassels 
there  must  be  on  all  the  curtains  to  the  pulpit,  and  how 
many  on  the  curtains  behind  the  rail  to  the  chancel. 

Mr.  Greenhithe,  therefore,  had  but  little  comfort  in 
studying  Horace's  face. 


126  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

.Just  as  the  Creed  was  finished,  when  the  rest  of  the 
church  was  still,  the  sexton  led  up  the  aisle  a  grim-look 
ing  man  with  a  shaggy  coat  and  a  very  dirty  face,  and 
brought  him  close  to  the  door  of  Mr.  Molineux's  pew, 
as  if  he  would  fain  bring  him  in.  Mr.  Molineux  was 
at  the  end  of  the  pew,  but  happened  to  be  turning  away 
from  the  aisle,  and  the  sexton  actually  touched  him. 
He  turned  round  and  looked  at  the  stranger,  evidently 
did  not  know  him,  but,  with  the  instinct  of  hospitality, 
stepped  into  the  aisle  and  offered  him  his  seat.  The 
stranger  was  embarrassed,  hesitated  as  if  he  would 
speak,  then  shook  his  head  in  refusal  of  the  attention, 
and,  crossing  the  aisle,  took  a  seat  offered  him  there,  in 
full  sight  of  Mr.  Molineux,  and,  indeed,  of  Matty. 

Poor  girl !  The  trifle — of  course  it  was  a  trifle- 
upset  her  sadly. 

Was  the  man  a  marshal  or  a  sheriff  ?  Would  they 
really  arrest  her  father  on  Christmas-day,  in  church  ? 


Ill 

Yes,  it  was,  as  you  have  said,  a  very  curious  Christ 
mas  service  for  all  those  people. 

What  Horace  turned  his  mind  to,  at  intervals,  has 
been  told. 

Of  the  older  members  of  our  little  company  who  sat 
there  near  the  head  of  the  side  aisle,  it  may  be  said,  in 
general,  that  they  did  their  best  to  keep  their  hearts 
and  minds  engaged  in  the  service,  and  that  sometimes 
they  succeeded.  They  succeeded  better  while  they 
could  really  join  in  the  hymns  and  the  prayers  than 


BKEAD    ON    THE    WATERS  127 

they  did  when  it  came  to  the  sermon.  Good  Dr.  Gill, 
overruled  by  one  of  those  lesser  demons  whose  work  is 
so  apparent  though  so  inexplicable  in  this  finite  world, 
had  selected  for  the  text  of  his  sermon  of  gladness  the 
words  "Search  and  look."  And  so  it  happened— it  was 
what  did  not  often  happen  with  him — he  must  needs 
repeat  those  words  often — at  the  beginning  and  end,  in 
deed,  of  every  leading  paragraph  of  the  sermon.  Now 
this  duty  of  searching  and  looking  had  been  just  what 
all  the  five  elder  members  of  the  Molineux  family  had 
been  solidly  doing — each  in  his  way  or  hers,  directly  or 
by  sympathy — in  the  last  forty-eight  hours.  To  get 
such  relief  as  they  might  from  it  they  had  come  to 
church,  to  look  rather  higher  if  they  could.  So  that 
it  was  to  them  more  a  misfortune  than  a  matter  of 
immediate  spiritual  relief  that  their  dear  old  friend, 
who  loved  each  one  of  them  with  an  intimate  and  pe 
culiar  love,  happened  to  enlarge  on  his  text  just  as  he 
did. 

If  poor  Mr.  Molineux,  by  dint  of  severe  self-com 
mand,  had  succeeded  in  abstracting  his  thoughts  from 
disgrace  almost  certain — from  thinking  over,  in  horrible 
variety,  the  several  threads  of  inquiry  and  answer  by 
which  that  disgrace  was  to  be  avoided  or  precipitated— 
how  was  it  possible  to  maintain  such  abstraction  while 
the  worthy  preacher,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  blood 
he  drew  with  every  word,  ground  out  his  sentences  in 
such  words  as  these : 

.  "Search  and  look,  my  brethren.  Time  passes  faster 
than  we  think.  Our  gray  hairs  gather  apace  above  our 
foreheads.  And  the  treasure  which  we  prized  beyond 
price  in  years  bygone  has,  perhaps,  amid  the  cares  of 


this  world,  or  in  the  deceitfulness  of  riches,  been  thrust 
on  one  side,  neglected,  and  at  last  forgotten.  How  is 
it  with  you,  dear  friends?  Are  you  the  man?  Are 
you  the  woman  ?  Have  you  put  on  one  side  the  very 
treasure  of  your  life — as  some  careless  housewife  might 
lay  aside  on  a  forgotten  shelf  this  parcel  or  that,  once 
so  precious  to  her?  Dear  friends,  as  the  year  draws  to 
a  close,  awaken  from  such  neglect.  Brush  away  the 
dust  from  these  forgotten  caskets.  Lift  them  from 
their  hiding-places  and  set  them  forth,  even  in  your 
Christmas  festivities.  Search  and  look!" 

Poor  Airs.  Molineux  had  never  wished  before  so 
earnestly  that  a  sermon  might  be  done.  She  dared  not 
look  round  to  see  her  husband  for  a  while,  but  after  one 
of  these  invocations — not  quite  so  terrible  as  the  rest, 
perhaps — she  stole  a  glance  that  way,  to  find  that  she 
might  have  spared  her  anxiety.  Two  nights  of  "search 
ing  and  looking"  had  done  their  duty  by  the  poor 
man,  and,  though  his  head  was  firmly  braced  against 
the  column  which  rose  from  the  side  of  their  pew,  his 
eyes  were  closed,  and  his  wife  was  relieved  by  the  cer 
tainty  that  he  was  listening,  as  those  happy  members 
of  the  human  family  listen  who  hear  best  when  their 
lids  are  tight  pressed  over  their  eyeballs.  As  for  Bev 
erly,  he  was  assuming  the  resolute  aspect  of  a  sailor 
under  fire,  and  was  imagining  himself  taking  the  whole 
storm  of  Fort  Constantine  as  he  led  an  American 
squadron  into  the  bay  of  Sevastopol.  Tom  did  not 
know  what  the  preacher  said,  but  was  devising  the 
method  of  his  interview  with  Greenhithe.  Matty  did 
know.  Dear  girl!  She  knew  very  well!  And  with 
every  well-rounded  sentence  of  the  sermon  she  was 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  129 

more  determined  as  to  the  method  of  her  appeal  to  Mrs. 
Gilbert,  the  widow  of  the  notary.  She  would  search 
and  look  there. 

Yes ;  and  it  was  well  for  every  one  of  them  that  they 
went  to  that  service!  The  sermon  at  the  worst  was 
but  twenty  minutes.  "Twenty  minutes  in  length," 
said  Beverly,  wickedly,  "and  no  depth  at  all."  But 
that  was  not  true  nor  fair.  Nor  was  that,  either  way, 
the  thing  that  was  essential.  By  the  time  they  had  all 
sung 

"Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow," 

even  before  the  good  old  doctor  had  asked  for  Heaven's 
blessing  upon  them,  it  had  come.  To  Mr.  Molineux 
it  had  come  in  an  hour's  rest  of  mind,  body,  and  soul. 
To  Matty  it  had  come  in  an  hour's  calm  determination. 
To  Mrs.  Molineux  it  had  come  in  the  certainty  that 
there  was  One  Eye  which  sees  through  all  hiding-places 
and  behind  all  disguises.  To  the  children  it  had  come, 
because  the  hour  had  called  up  to  them  a  hundred 
memories  of  Galilee  and  Nazareth,  of  Mary  Mother, 
and  of  children  made  happy,  to  supplement  and  help 
out  their  legends  of  Santa  Claus.  Yes,  and  even  Bev 
erly  the  brave  and  Tom  the  outraged,  as  they  stood  to 
receive  the  benediction  of  the  preacher,  were  more  of 
men  and  less  of  firebrands  than  they  had  been.  They 
all  stood  with  reverence ;  they  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  slowly  walked  down  the  aisle. 

"  Where  is  your  father,  Horace  ?"  said  Mrs.  Molineux, 
a  little  anxiously,  as  she  came  where  she  could  speak 
aloud.  Horace  was  waiting  for  her. 

"Papa?     He  went  away  with  the  gentleman  who 


130  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

came  in  after  service  began.  They  crossed  the  street, 
and  took  a  carriage  together/' 

"And  did  papa  leave  no  message?" 

"  Why,  no!  He  did  not  turn  round  !  The  strange 
man — the  man  in  the  rough  coat — just  touched  him 
and  spoke  to  him  half-way  down  the  aisle.  Then  papa 
whispered  to  him,  and  he  whispered  back.  Then,  as 
soon  as  they  came  into  the  vestibule  here,  papa  led 
him  out  at  that  side  door,  and  did  not  seem  to  remem 
ber  me.  They  almost  ran  across  the  street,  arid  took 
George  Gibbs's  hack.  I  knew  the  horses." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  said  Laura ;  "  I  thought  papa 
would  walk  home  with  us  and  tell  us  the  story  of  the 
bears." 

Poor  Mrs.  Molineux  thought  it  was  too  bad  too,  but 
she  said  nothing. 

And  Matty,  when  she  joined  her  mother,  said,  "  I 
shall  feel  a  thousand  times  happier,  mamma,  if  I 
go  and  see  Mrs.  Gilbert  now."  And  she  explained 
who  Mrs.  Gilbert  was.  "  Perhaps  it  may  do  some 
good.  Anyway,  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  were  doing  some 
thing.  I  will  be  home  in  time  to  finish  the  tree  and 
things,  for  Horace  will  like  to  help  me." 

And  the  poor  girl  looked  her  entreaties  so  eagerly 
that  her  mother  could  not  but  assent  to  her  plan.  So 
she  made  Beverly  go  up  the  avenue  with  her  —  Bever- 
1}T,  who  Avould  have  swum  the  Potomac  and  back  for 
her,  had  she  asked  him — as  he  was  on  his  way  to  join 
his  father  at  the  bureau. 

As  they  came  out  upon  the  broad  sidewalk,  that 
odious  Greenhithe,  with  some  one  whom  Beverly  called 


BEE  AD    ON    THE   WATERS  131 

a  blackguard  of  his  crew,  pushed  by  them,  and  he  had 
the  impudence  to  turn  and  touch  his  hat  to  Matty 
again. 

Matty's  hand  trembled  on  Beverly's  arm,  but  she 
would  not  speak  for  a  minute,  only  she  walked  slower 
and  slower.  Then  she  said,  "  I  am  so  afraid,  Bev,  that 
Tom  and  he  will  get  into  a  quarrel.  Tom  declares  he 
will  go  into  Willard's  and  find  out  whether  he  does 
know  anything." 

But  Beverly,  very  mannish,  tried  to  reassure  her 
and  make  her  believe  that  Tom  would  be  very  self- 
restrained  and  perfectly  careful. 

On  Christmas-day  the  Jew's  dry-goods  store  which 
had  taken  the  place  of  old  Mr.  Gilbert's  notary's 
office  was  closed — not  perhaps  so  much  from  the  Is 
raelite's  enthusiasm  about  Christmas  as  in  deference 
to  what  in  New  England  is  called  "  the  sense  of  the 
street."  Matty,  however,  acting  from  a  precise  knowl 
edge  of  Washington  life,  rang  boldly  at  the  green  door 
adjacent,  Beverly  still  waiting  to  see  what  might  turn 
up,  and  when  a  brisk  "  colored  girl "  appeared  Matty 
inquired  if  Mrs.  Munroe  was  at  home. 

Now  all  that  Matty  knew  of  Mrs.  Munroe  was  that 
her  name  was  on  a  well -scoured  brass  plate  on  the 
door. 

Mrs.  Munroe  was  in.  Beverly  said  he  would  wait  in 
the  passage.  Mrs.  Munroe  proved  to  be  a  nice  mother 
ly  sort  of  person,  who,  as  it  need  hardly  be  said,  was 
stone-deaf.  It  required  some  time  for  Matty  to  adjust 
her  speaking  apparatus  to  the  exigency,  but  when  this 
was  done  Mrs.  Munroe  explained  that  Mr.  Gilbert 
was  dead ;  that  an  effort  had  been  made  to  continue 


132  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

the  business  with  the  old  sign  and  the  old  good-will, 
under  the  direction  of  a  certain  Mr.  Bundy,  who  had 
sometimes  been  called  in  as  an  assistant.  But  Mr. 
Bundy,  after  some  years,  paid  more  attention  to  whis 
key  than  he  did  to  notarying,  and  the  law  business 
had  suffered.  Finally  Mr.  Bundy  was  brought  home 
by  the  police  one  night  with  a  broken  head,  and  then 
Mrs.  Gilbert  had  withdrawn  the  signs,  cancelled  the 
lease,  turned  Mr.  Bundy  out-of-doors,  and  retired  to 
live  with  a  stepsister  of  her  brother's  wife's  father 
near  the  Arsenal— good  Mrs.  Munroe  was  not  certain 
whether  on  Delaware  Avenue,  or  whether  on  T  Street, 
U  Street,  or  Y  Street.  And,  indeed,  whether  the  lady's 
name  were  Butman,  before  she  married  her  second 
husband,  and  Lichtenfels  afterwards,  or  whether  his 
name  were  Butman  and  hers  Lichtenfels,  Mrs.  Mun 
roe  was  not  quite  sure.  Nor  could  she  say  whether 
Mrs.  Gilbert  took  the  account- books  and  registers — 
there  were  heaps  on  heaps  of  them,  for  Mr.  Gilbert 
had  been  a  notary  ever  since  General  Jackson's  day— 
or  whether  Bundy  did  not  take  them,  or  whether  they 
were  not  sold  for  old  paper,  Mrs.  Munroe  was  not 
sure.  For  all  this  happened — all  the  break-up  and 
removal — while  Mrs.  Munroe  was  on  a  visit  to  her 
sister  not  far  from  Brick  Church,  above  Little  Falls, 
on  your  way  to  Frederick.  And  Mrs.  Munroe  offered 
this  visit  as  a  constant  apology  for  her  not  knowing 
more  precisely  every  detail  of  her  old  friend's  business. 
This  explanation  took  a  good  deal  of  time,  through 
all  of  which  poor  Beverly  was  fretting  and  fuming  and 
stamping  his  cold  feet  in  the  passage,  hearing  the  oc 
casional  questions  of  his  sister,  uttered  with  thunder 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  133 

tone  in  the  "sitting-room"  above,  but  hearing  no  word 
of  the  placid  widow's  replies. 

When  Matty  returned  and  held  a  consultation  with 
him,  the  question  was,  whether  to  follow  the  books  of 
account  to  Georgetown,  where  Mr.  Bundy  was  under 
stood  to  be  still  residing,  or  to  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Arsenal,  in  the  hope  of  finding  Mrs.  Gilbert,  Mrs.  Lich- 
tenfels,  or  Mrs.  Butman,  as  the  case  might  be.  Eeaders 
should  understand  that  these  two  points,  both  unknown 
to  the  young  people,  are  some  six  miles  asunder,  the 
original  notary's  office  being  about  half-way  between 
them.  Beverly  was  more  disposed  to  advise  following 
the  man.  He  was  of  a  mind  to  attack  some  one  of  his 
own  sex.  But  the  enterprise  was,  in  truth,  Matty's 
enterprise.  Beverly  had  but  little  faith  in  it  from  the 
beginning,  and  Matty  was  minded  to  follow  such  clew 
as  they  had  to  Mrs.  Gilbert,  quite  sure  that,  woman 
with  woman,  she  should  succeed  better  with  her  than 
man  with  man,  Beverly  with  Bundy.  Beverly  assent 
ed  to  this  view  the  more  readily  because  Matty  was 
quite  willing  to  undertake  the  quest  alone.  She  was 
very  brave  about  it  indeed.  "  Plenty  of  nice  people  at 
the  Arsenal,"  or  near  it,  whom  she  could  fall  back  upon 
for  counsel  or  information.  So  they  parted.  Matty 
took  a  street-car  for  the  east  and  south,  and  Beverly 
went  his  ways  to  the  Bureau  of  Internal  Improvement 
to  report  for  duty  to  his  father. 

This  story  must  not  follow  the  details  of  Matty's 
quest  for' the  firm  of  "  Gilbert,  Lichtenfels,  or  Butman." 
Certain  it  is  that  she  would  never  have  succeeded  had 
she  rested  simply  on  the  directory  or  on  such  crude  in 
formation  as  Mrs.  Munroe  had  so  freely  given.  But 


134  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

Matty  had  an  English  tongue  in  her  head,  a  courteous, 
which  is  to  say  a  confiding,  address  with  strangers ;  she 
seemed  almost  to  be  conferring  a  favor  at  the  moment 
when  she  asked  one;  and  she  knew,  in  this  business, 
that  there  was  no  such  word  as  fail.  After  one  or 
two  false  starts — some  very  stupid  answers,  and  some 
very  blunt  refusals — she  found  her  quarry  at  last,  bv 
as  simple  a  process  as  walking  into  a  Sunday-school  of 
colored  children,  where  she  heard  singing  in  the  base 
ment  of  a  little  chapel. 

In  a  fewr  words  Matty  explained  her  errand  to  the 
superintendent,  and  that  it  was  necessary  that  she 
should  find  Mrs.  Gilbert  before  dark. 

"  Ting !"  One  stroke  of  the  bell  called  hundreds  of 
eager  voices  to  silence. 

"  Who  knows  where  Mrs.  Gilbert  lives?  It  is  at  Mrs. 
Butman's  house  or  Mrs.  Lichtenfels's." 

Twenty  eager  hands  contended  with  each  other  for 
the  honor  of  giving  the  information,  and  in  three  min 
utes  more  Matty,  all  encouraged  by  her  success,  was  on 
her  way. 

And  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  at  home.  Good  fortune  num 
ber  two !  Matty's  star  was  certainly  in  the  ascendant! 
Matty  sent  in  her  card,  and  the  nice  old  lady  presented 
herself  at  once — remembered  who  Matty  was,  remem 
bered  how  much  business  Mr,  Molineux  used  to  bring 
to  the  office,  and  how  grateful  Mr.  Gilbert  always  was. 
She  was  so  glad  to  see  Matty.  And  she  hoped  Mr. 
Molineux  was  well,  and  Mrs.  Molineux  and  all  those 
little  ones !  She  used  to  see  them  every  Sunday  as  they 
went  to  church,  if  they  went  on  the  avenue. 

Thus  encouraged,  Matty  opened  on  her  sad  story, 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  135 

and  was  fairly  helped  from  stage  to  stage  by  the 
wonder,  indignation,  and  exclamations  of  the  kind  old 
lady.  When  Matty  came  to  the  end,  and  made  her  un 
derstand  how  much  depended  on  the  day-book,  register, 
and  ledger  of  her  husband,  it  was  a  fair  minute  before 
she  spoke. 

"  We  will  see,  my  dear ;  we  will  see.  I  wish  it  may 
be  so,  but  I'm  all  afeard.  It  would  not  be  like  him,  my 
dear.  It  would  not  be  like  any  of  them.  But  come 
with  me,  my  dear,  we  will  see — we  will  see." 

Then  as  Matty  followed  her  through  devious  ways, 
out  through  the  kitchen,  across  a  queer  bricked  yard, 
into  a  half-stable,  half- woodshed,  which  the  good  wom 
an  unlocked,  she  went  on  talking : 

"You  see,  my  dear  child,  that  though  notaries  are 
called  notaries — as  if  it  were  their  business  to  give  notice 
—the  most  important  part  of  their  business  is  keeping 
secrets.  Now  when  a  man's  note  goes  to  protest,  the 
notary  tells  him  what  has  happened — which  he  knew 
very  wrell  before ;  and  then  he  comes  to  the  notary  and 
begs  him  not  to  tell  anybodj^  else,  and  of  course  he 
does  not.  And  the  business  of  a  notary's  account-books, 
as  my  husband  used  to  say,  is  to  tell  just  enough  and 
not  to  tell  any  more." 

"Why,  my  dear  child,  he  would  not  use  blotting- 
paper  in  the  office  !  He  would  always  use  sand.  '  Blot 
ting-paper?  Never!'  he  would  say.  'Blotting-paper 
tells  secrets !'  '' 

With  such  chatter  they  came  to  the  little  chilly 
room,  which  was  shelved  all  around,  and  to  Matty's 
glad  eyes  presented  rows  of  green  and  blue  and  red 
boxes,  and  folio  and  quarto  books  of  every  date  from 


136  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 

1829  to  1869— forty  years,  in  which  the  late  Mr.  Gil 
bert,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  after  him,  had  been  confirming 
history,  keeping  secret  what  he  knew,  but  making  sure 
what,  but  for  him,  might  have  been  doubted  by  a  scep 
tic  world. 

Things  were  in  good  order.  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  proud 
to  show  that  they  were  in  good  order.  The  day-book 
for  1863  was  at  hand.  Matty  knew  the  fatal  dates 
only  too  well.  And  the  fatal  entries  were  here. 

Ho\v  her  heart  beat  as  she  began  to  read  : 

Cr.  To  Thomas  Molineux,  Esq.  (B.  I.  I.) 

Official  authentication  of  signature  of  Felipe  Garza  $1  25 
Same— Authentication  of  sig.  of  Jose  B.  Du  Camara  1  25 
Same— Authentication  of  sig.  of  Jacob  II.  Cole.  .  1  25 

And  this  was  all !  Poor  Matty  copied  it  all ;  but  all 
the  time  she  begged  Mrs.  Gilbert  to  tell  her  if  there 
were  not  some  note-book  or  journal  that  would  tell 
more.  And  kind  Mrs.  Gilbert  looked  eagerly  for  what 
she  called  the  "  diry."  At  the  proper  dates,  at  intervals 
of  a  week  or  two,  Matty  found  similar  entries,  the 
names  of  the  two  Spaniards  appearing  in  all  three,  but 
other  names  in  place  of  Cole's,  just  as  Tom  had  told 
her  already.  By  the  time  she  had  copied  all  of  these 
Mrs.  Gilbert  had  found  the  dirij.  Eager,  and  yet  heart 
sick,  Matty  turned  it  over  with  her  old  friend. 

This  was  all : 

"  Mr.  Molineux  here.     Very  private.     Papers  in  R.  G.  E." 

And  then  followed  a  little  burst  of  unintelligible 
shorthand. 

Poor  Matty  !    She  could  not  but  feel  that  here  would 


BKEAD    ON    THE    WATERS  137 

not  be  evidence  good  for  anything,  even  in  a  novel. 
But  she  copied  every  word  carefully,  as  a  chief  clerk's 
daughter  should  do.  She  thanked  the  kind  old  lady, 
and  even  kissed  her.  She  looked  at  her  watch.  Heav 
ens!  how  fast  time  had  gone!  And  the  afternoons 
were  so  short ! 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Miss  Molineux,  but  they  have  turn 
ed,  my  dear;  the  day  is  a  little  longer  and  a  little 
lighter." 

Did  the  old  lady  mean  it  for  an  omen,  or  was  it  only 
one  of  those  chattering  remarks  on  meteors  and  weather- 
change  of  which  old-age  is  so  fond  ?  Matty  wondered, 
but  did  not  know.  Fast  as  she  could  she  tripped  bravely 
on  to  the  avenue  for  her  street-car. 

"  The  day  is  longer  and  lighter." 

Meanwhile  Tom  was  following  his  clew  in  the  public 
rooms  at  Willard's,  to  which,  as  he  had  prophesied,  Mr. 
Greenhithe  had  returned,  after  the  unusual  variation 
in  his  line  of  a  morning  spent  in  the  sanctuary.  Tom 
bought  a  copy  of  the  Baltimore  Sun  and  went  into  one 
of  the  larger  rooms  resorted  to  by  travellers  and  loaf 
ers,  and  sat  down.  But  Mr.  Greenhithe  did  not  appear 
there.  Tom  walked  up  and  down  through  the  pas 
sages  a  little  uneasily,  for  he  was  sure  the  ex-clerk  had 
come  into  the  hotel.  He  even  went  up  and  looked 
in  at  the  ladies'  sitting-rooms  to  see  if  perhaps  some 
Duchess  of  Devonshire  of  high  political  circles  had 
found  it  worth  while  to  drag  Mr.  Greenhithe  up  there 
by  a  single  hair.  No  Mr.  Greenhithe  !  Tom  was  forced 
to  go  and  drink  a  glass  of  beer  to  see  if  Mr.  Green 
hithe  was  not  thirsty.  But  at  that  moment,  though 


138  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

Mr.  Greenhithe  was  generally  thirsty  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  and  although  many  men  were  thirsty  at  the 
time  Tom  hung  over  his  glass  of  lager,  Mr.  Greenhithe 
was  not  thirsty.  It  was  only  as  Tom  passed  the  bill 
iard-room  that  he  saw  Mr.  Greenhithe  playing  a  game 
of  billiards  by  way  of  celebrating  the  new  birth  of  a 
regenerated  world. 

What  to  do  now !  Tom  could  not,  in  common  de 
cency,  go  in  to  look  on  at  the  game  of  a  man  he  wanted 
to  choke.  Yet  Tom  would  have  given  all  his  chances 
for  rank  in  the  Academy  to  know  what  Greenhithe  was 
talking  about.  Tom  slowly  withdrew. 

As  he  withdrew,  whom  should  he  meet  butane  of 
his  kindest  friends,  Commodore  Benbow !  When  the 
boys  made  their  "  experimental  cruise"  the  year  before, 
they  had  found  Commodore  Benbow's  ship  at  Lisbon. 
The  commodore  had  taken  a  particular  fancy  to  Tom, 
because  he  had  known  his  mother  when  they  were  boy 
and  girl.  Tom  had  even  been  invited  personally  to  the 
flag-ship,  and  was  to  have  been  presented  at  court  but 
that  they  had  sailed  too  soon. 

To  tell  the  whole  truth,  the  commodore  was  not 
overpleased  to  see  his  protege  hanging  about  the  bar 
and  billiard-room  on  Christmas-day.  For  himself,  his 
whole  family  were  living  at  Willard's,  but  he  knew 
Tom's  father  was  not  living  there,  and  he  thought  Tom 
might  be  better  employed. 

Perhaps  Tom  guessed  this.  Perhaps  he  was  in  de 
spair.  Anyway,  he  knew  "  Old  Benbow,"  as  the  boys 
called  him,  would  be  a  good  counsellor.  In  point  of 
statistics,  "  Old  Benbow"  had  just  turned  forty,  had  not 
a  gray  hair  in  his  head,  could  have  beaten  any  one  in 


BREAD   ON   THE    WATERS  139 

Tom's  class,  whether  in  gunnery  or  at  billiards ;  could 
have  demonstrated  every  problem  in  Euclid  while  they 
were  fiddling  over  the  forty-seventh  proposition.  He 
was  at  the  very  prime  of  well-preserved  power,  but 
young  nineteen  called  him  "Old  Benbow,"  as  young 
nineteen  will,  in  such  cases. 

Bold  with  despair  or  with  love  for  his  father,  Tom 
stopped  "  Old  Benbow,"  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
come  into  one  of  the  sitting-rooms  with  him.  Then  he 
made  this  venerable  old  man  his  confidant.  The  com 
modore  had  seen  the  slurs  in  the  Scorpion,  and  the 
Argus,  and  the  Evening  Lantern.  "  A  pity,"  said  he, 
"that  Newspaper  Row,  which  can  do  so  much  good, 
should  do  so  much  harm.  What  is  Newspaper  Row  ? 
Three  or  four  men  of  honor,  three  or  four  dreamers, 
three  or  four  schoolboys,  three  or  four  fools,  and  three 
or  four  scamps.  And  the  public,  Molineux — which  is 
to  say,  you  and  I— accept  the  trumpet-blast  of  one  of 
these  heralds  precisely  as  we  do  that  of  another.  Prac 
tically,"  said  he,  pensively,  "  when  we  were  detached  to 
serve  with  the  Thirteenth  Corps  in  Mobile  Bay,  I  found 
I  liked  the  talk  of  those  light-infantry  men — who  had 
been  in  every  scrimmage  in  the  war — quite  as  much  as 
I  did  that  of  the  band-men  who  played  the  trumpets 
on  parade.  But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there.  I  had 
read  this  rigmarole.  I  thought  of  coming  round  to  see 
your  father,  but  I  knew  I  should  bother  him.  What 
can  I  do,  my  boy  ?" 

Then  Tom  told  him,  rather  doubtfully,  that  he  had 
reason  to  fear  that  Mr.  Greenhithe  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  whole  scandal.  He  said  he  wished  he  did  not 
think  that  Mr.  Greenhithe  had  himself  stolen  the  papers. 


140  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"  If  I  am  wrong,  I  want  to  know  it,"  said  he.  "  If  I 
am  right,  I  want  to  know  it.  I  do  not  want  to  be  do 
ing  any  man  injustice.  But  I  do  not  want  to  keep  old 
Eben  Eicketts  over  at  the  department  hunting  for  a 
file  of  papers  which  Greenhithe  has  hidden  in  his  trunk 
or  has  put  into  the  fire." 

"  No,  no,  no,  indeed  !"  said  "  Old  Benbow,"  musing. 
"  No,  no,  no !" 

Then,  after  a  pause — "  Tom,"  said  he,  li  come  round 
here  in  an  hour.  I  know  that  young  fellow  your  friend 
is  playing  with — and  I  wish  he  were  in  better  company 
than  he  is,  I  think  I  know  enough  of  the  usages  of 
modern  society  to  'interview'  him  and  his  companion 
—though  in  that  regard  times  have  changed  since  I 
was  of  your  age.  Come  here  in  an  hour — or  give  me 
rather  more,  come  here  at  half-past  two — and  we  will 
see  what  we  will  see." 

So  Tom  went  round  to  the  Nav\r  Department.  And 
here  he  found  the  faithful  Eben — faithful  to  him,  though 
utterly  faithless  as  to  any  success  in  the  special  quest 
which  was  making  the  entertainment  of  his  Christmas 
holiday.  Vainly  did  Tom  repeat  to  him  his  own  for 
mula  : 

"  If  the  Navy  did  the  work,  the  Navy  has  the 
vouchers." 

"My  dear  boy,"  Eben  Eicketts  repeated  a  hundred 
times,  "  though  the  Navy  did  the  work,  the  Navy  did 
not  provide  the  pork  and  beans ;  it  did  not  arrange  in 
advance  for  the  landing;  least  of  all  did  it  buy  the 
Greasers.  I  will  look  where  you  like,  for  love  of  your 
father  and  you,  but  that  file  of  vouchers  is  not  here, 
never  was  here,  and  never  will  be  found  here." 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  141 

An  assistant  like  this  is  not  an  encouraging  adviser. 
And,  in  short,  the  vouchers  were  not  found  in  the 
Navy  Department  in  that  particular  midday  search. 
At  twenty  minutes  past  two  Tom  gave  it  up  unwill 
ingly,  bade  Eben  Ricketts  good-bye,  washed  his  hands 
from  the  accretions  of  coal-dust,  which  will  gather  even 
on  letter-boxes  in  Navy  Departments,  and  ran  across  in 
front  of  the  President's  House  to  Willard's.  He  looked 
up  at  the  White  House,  and  wondered  how  the  people 
there  were  spending  their  Christmas-day. 

Commodore  Benbow  was  waiting  for  him.  He  took 
him  up  into  his  own  parlors. 

"Molineux,  your  Mr.  Greenhithe  is  either  the  most 
ingenious  liar  and  the  best  actor  on  God's  earth,  or  he 
knows  no  more  of  your  lost  papers  than  a  child  in  heav 
en.  I  went  back  to  the  billiard-room  after  you  left  me. 
I  walked  up  to  Millet — that  was  Lieutenant  Millet  play 
ing  with  Greenhithe — and  shook  hands.  He  had  to 
introduce  me  to  your  friend.  Then  I  asked  them  both 
to  come  here;  told  Millet  I  had  some  papers  from 
Montevideo  that  he  would  be  glad  to  see,  and  that  I 
should  be  glad  of  a  call  when  they  had  done  their 
game.  Well,  they  came.  I  am  sorry  to  say  your 
friend— 

"  Oh,  don't,  my  dear  Commodore  Benbow,  don't 
call  him  my  friend,  even  in  joke;  it  makes  me  feel 
awfully." 

"  I  am  glad  it  does,"  said  the  commodore,  laughing. 
"  Well,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  black  sheep  had 
been  drinking  more  of  the  whiskey  down-stairs  than 
was  good  for  him,  and,  no  fault  of  mine,  he  drank 
more  of  my  Madeira  here  than  he  should  have  done ; 


142  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

and,  Tom,  I  do  not  believe  he  was  in  any  condition  to 
keep  secrets.  Well,  first  of  all,  it  appears  that  he  has 
been  in  Bremen  and  Vienna  for  six  months— he  only 
arrived  in  New  York  yesterday  morning." 

Tom's  face  fell. 

"And  next — you  may  take  this  for  what  it  is  worth, 
but  I  believe  he  spoke  the  truth  for  once — he  certainly 
did  if  there  is  any  truth  in  liquor  or  in  swearing.  For 
when  I  asked  Millet  what  all  this  stuff  about  your 
father  meant,  Greenhithe  interrupted,  very  unneces 
sarily  and  very  rudely,  and  said,  with  more  oaths  than 
I  will  trouble  you  with,  that  the  whole  was  a  damned 
lie  of  the  newspaper- men ;  that  they  had  lied  about 
him  (Greenhithe)  and  now  were  lying  about  old  Moli- 
neux.  That  Molineux  had  been  very  hard  on  him,  and 
very  unjust  to  him,  but  he  would  say  that  he  was 
honest  as  the  clock — honest  enough  to  be  mean — and 
that  he  would  say  that  to  the  committee  if  they  would 
call  on  him — and  so  on,  and  so  on." 

"^fuch  good  would  he  do  before  the  committee," 
said  poor  Tom.  And  thus  ended  Tom's  investiga 
tion. 

"  Come  to  me  if  I  can  help  you,  my  boy,"  said  "  Old 
Benbow."  "  It  is  always  the  darkest,  old  fellow,  the 
hour  before  day." 

Tom  was  astronomer  enough  to  know  that  this  old 
saw  was  as  false  as  most  old  saws.  But  with  this 
for  his  only  comfort  he  returned  to  the  bureau  to  seek 
Beverly  and  his  father. 

Neither  Beverly  nor  his  father  was  there.  Tom 
went  directly  home.  His  mother  was  eager  to  see 
him.  She  had  come  home  alone,  and, save  Horace  and 


BKEAD    ON   THE    WATERS  143 

Laura  and  Flossy  and  the  Brick,  she  had  seen  nobody 
but  a  messenger  from  the  bureau. 

The  Brick  was  the  family  name  for  Robert,  one  of 
the  37oungest  of  this  household. 

Of  Beverly's  movements  this  day  the  story  must  be 
more  briefly  told.  They  took  more  time  than  Tom's ; 
as  much,  indeed,  as  his  sister's  after  they  parted.  But 
they  were  conducted  by  means  of  that  marvel  of  mar 
vels,  the  telegraph,  the  chief  of  whose  marvels  is  that 
it  compels  even  a  long-winded  generation  like  ours  to 
speak  in  very  short  metre. 

Beverly  began  with  Mr.  Bundy  at  Georgetown. 
Georgetown  is  but  a  quiet  place  on  the  most  active 
of  days.  On  Christmas-day  Beverly  found  but  little 
stirring  out  of  doors.  Still,  with  the  directory,  with 
the  advice  of  a  saloon-keeper,  and  the  information  of  a 
police-officer,  Beverly  tracked  Mr.  Bundy  to  his  lair. 

It  was  not  a  notary's  office;  it  was  a  liquor-shop  of 
the  lowest  grade,  with  many  badly  painted  signs,  which 
explained  that  this  was  "Our  House,"  and  that  here 
Mr.  Bundy  made  and  sold  —  with  proper  license,  let 
us  be  grateful  —  Tom -and -Jerry,  smashes,  cocktails, 
and  did  other  deeds  "  without  a  name."  On  this  oc 
casion,  however,  even  the  door  of  "Our  House"  was 
closed.  Mr.  Bundy  had  gone  to  a  turkey -shooting 
match  at  Fairfax  Court-house.  The  period  of  his  re 
turn  was  very  doubtful.  He  had  never  done  anything 
but  keep  this  drinking- room  since  old  Mrs.  Gilbert 
turned  him  out-of-doors. 

With  this  information  master  Beverly  returned  to 
town.  He  then  began  on  his  own  line  of  search. 


144  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,    AND    OTHERS 

Relying  on  Tom's  news,  he  went  to  the  office  of  the 
Western  Union  Telegraph  and  concocted  this  despatch, 
which  he  thought  a  masterpiece : 

"GREENSBURG,  Westmoreland  Co.,  P;>. 
"  To  Robert  John  WhiUlmugli : 
"  When  and  where  can  I  see  you  on  important  business?     Answer. 

"BEVERLY  MOLINEUX,  for  TlIOMAS  MOLINEUX." 

Then  he  took  a  walk,  and  after  half  an  hour  called 
at  the  office  again.  The  office  was  still  engaged  in 
calling  Greensburg.  Greensburg  was  eating  its  Christ 
mas  dinner.  But  at  last  Greensburg  was  called.  Then 
Beverly  received  this  answer  : 

"  Whilthaugh  has  been  dead  more  than  a  year. 

"GREENSBURG." 

To  which  Beverly  replied  : 

"  Where  does  his  wife  live,  or  his  administrator  ?" 

To  which  Greensburg,  having  been  called  a  second 
time  with  difficulty,  replied  : 

"  His  wife  is  crazy,  and  we  never  heard  of  any  property. 

"GREENSBURG." 

With  this  result  of  his  investment  as  a  non-dividend 
member  of  the  great  Western  Union  Mutual  Informa 
tion  Club,  Beverly  returned  home,  chewing  the  cud  of 
sweet  and  bitter  fancies. 

"  There  is  no  speech  nor  language,"  sang  the  choir 
in  St. Matthew's  as  he  passed,  "and  their  voice  is  not 
heard.  But  their  line  has  gone  out  through  all  the 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  145 

earth,"  and  Tom  heard  no  more,  as  he  passed  on.  As 
he  walked,  almost  unwillingly,  up  the  street  to  the 
high  steps  of  his  father's  house,  Matty,  out  of  breath, 
overtook  him. 

"  What  have  you  found,  Bev  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  boy,  moodity.  And  poor  Matty 
had  to  confess  that  she  had  hardly  more  to  tell. 

They  came  into  the  house  by  the  lower  entrance, 
that  they  need  not  attract  their  mother's  attention. 
But  she  was  on  the  alert.  Even  Horace  and  the 
younger  children  knew  by  this  time  that  something- 
was  wrong. 

Horace's  story  about  the  strange  man  and  papa  was 
the  last  news  of  papa.  Papa  had  not  been  at  the  bu 
reau.  The  bureau  people  waited  for  him  till  two,  and 
he  did  not  come.  Then  Stratton  had  come  round  to 
see  if  he  was  to  keep  open  any  longer.  Stratton  had 
told  Mrs.  Molineux  that  her  husband  had  not  been 
there  since  church. 

Where  in  the  world  was  he  ?  Poor  Mrs.  Molineux 
had  not  known  where  to  send  or  to  go.  She  had  just 
looked  in  at  the  doctor's,  but  he  was  not  there. 

Tom  had  appeared  first  to  her  tedious  waiting.  Tom 
would  not  tell  her,  but  he  even  went  and  looked  in  on 
Newspaper  Row,  which  he  had  been  abusing  so.  For 
Tom's  first  thought  was  that  a  formal  information  had 
been  lodged  somewhere,  and  that  his  father  was  ar 
rested.  But  Newspaper  Row  evidently  was  unsuspi 
cious  of  an}7  arrest.  Tom  even  walked  down  to  the  old 
jail,  and  made  an  absurd  errand  to  see  the  deputy- 
marshal.  But  the  deputy-marshal  was  at  his  Christ 
mas  dinner. 
10 


146  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 

Tom  told  all  this,  in   the  hall,  to  Beverly  and  to 
Matty.     Everything  had  failed,  and  papa  was  gone. . 
Who  could  the  man  in  the  shag  coat  be?     The  three 
went  together  into  the  parlor. 

X 

For  a  little,  Matty  and  Horace  and  Tom  and  Bev 
erly  then  made  a  pretence  of  arranging  the  tree.  But, 
in  truth.  Mrs.  Molineux,  in  the  midst  of  all  her  care, 
had  done  that  while  they  were  all  away. 

Dinner  was  postponed  half  an  hour,  and  they  gath 
ered  all  in  the  darkness,  looking  at  the  sickliest  blaze 
that  ever  rambled  over  half-burned  Cumberland  coal. 

The  Brick  came  climbing  up  on  Tom's  knees  and  bade 
him  tell  a  story ;  but  even  Laura  saw  that  something 
was  wrong,  and  hushed  the  child,  and  said  she  and 
Flossy  would  sing  one  of  their  carols.  And  they  sang 
it,  and  were  praised  ;  and  they  sang  another,  and  were 
praised.  But  then  it  was  quite  dark.  And  nobody 
had  any  heart  to  say  one  word  more. 

"  Where  is  papa?"  said  the  Brick. 

"  Where  indeed !"  everybody  wanted  to  say,  and  no 
one  did. 

But  then  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Chloe  brought  in  a 
note. 

"  He's  waiting  for  an  answer,  mum." 

And  Tom  lighted  the  gas.  It  popped  up  so  bright 
that  little  Flossy  said : 

"The  people  that  sat  in  darkness  saw  a  great 
light." 

This  was  just  as  Mrs.  Molineux  tore  open  the  note. 
For  the  instant  she  could  not  speak.  She  handed  it  to 
the  three ; 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  147 

FOUND  !    Home  in  half  an  hour.     All  right.     Thank  God  ! 

<(T.  M." 


"  Saw  a  great  light  indeed,"  said  Horace,  who  for 
once  felt  awed. 


IV 

For  half  a  minute,  as  it  seemed  afterwards,  no  one 
spoke.  Then  Matty  flew  to  her  mother  and  flung  her 
arms  around  her  neck,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

Tom  hardly  knew  what  he  was  doing,  but  he  recov 
ered  self-command  enough  to  know  that  he  must  try 
to  be  manly  and  businesslike,  and  so  he  rushed  down 
stairs  to  iind  the  man  who  brought  the  note.  It  proved 
to  be  a  man  he  did  not  know.  Not  a  messenger  from 
the  bureau,  nor  one  from  the  Navy  Department— least 
of  all  an  aid  of  the  assistant  marshal's.  He  was  an 
innocent  waiter  from  the  Seaton  House,  who  said  a 
gentleman  called  him  and  gave  him  the  note,  told  him 
to  lose  no  time,  and  gave  him  half  a  dollar  for  coming. 
He  had  asked  for  an  answer,  though  the  gentleman 
had  not  told  him  to. 

Tom  wrote: 

"  Hurrah  !     All's  well.     All  at  home.—  T." 

and  gave  this  note  to  the  man. 

They  all  talked  at  once,  and  they  all  sat  still  without 
talking.  The  children — must  it  be  confessed  ? — asked 
all  sorts  of  inopportune  questions.  At  last  Tom  was 
even  fain  to  tell  the  story  of  the  bear  himself,  by  way 
of  silencing  the  Brick  and  Laura ;  and,  with  much  cor- 


148  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

rection  from  Horace,  had  got  the  bear  well  advanced  in 
smelling  at  the  almond  candy  and  the  figs,  when  a  car 
riage  was  heard  on  the  street,  evidently  coming  rapidly 
towards  them.  It  stopped  at  the  door.  The  bear  was 
forgotten  as  all  the  elders  in  this  free-and-easy  family 
rushed  out  of  the  parlor  into  the  hall. 

Papa  was  there,  and  was  as  happy  as  they.  With 
papa,  or  just  behind  him,  came  in  the  man  with  the 
rough  coat,  whose  face  at  church  had  been  so  dirty, 
whose  face  now  was  clean.  To  think  that  papa  should 
have  brought  the  deputy -marshal  with  him ! 

For  by  the  name  of  the  deputy -marshal  had  this 
mysterious  stranger  been  spoken  of  in  private  by  the 
two  young  men  since  the  fatal  theory  had  once  been 
advanced  that  he  had  come  into  the  church  to  arrest 
Mr.  Molineux. 

The  unknown,  with  great  tact,  managed  to  keep  in 
the  background,  while  Mrs.  Molineux  kissed  her  hus 
band,  and  while  Matty  kissed  him,  and  while  among 
them  they  pulled  off  his  coat.  But  Mr.  Molineux  did 
not  forget.  He  made  a  chance  in  a  moment  to  say : 
"  You  must  speak  to  our  friend  who  has  brought  me 
here.  No  one  was  ever  so  welcome  at  a  Christmas  din 
ner.  Mr.  Kuj^pers,  my  dear ;  Mr.  Kuypers,  Matty,  dear. 
These  are  my  boys,  Mr.  Kuypers." 

Then,  as  the  ladies  welcomed  the  stranger  and  the 
boys  shook  hands  with  him,  Mr.  Molineux  added— 
what  hardly  any  one  understood  — "  It  is  not  every 
friend  who  travels  fifteen  hundred  miles  to  jog  a 
friend's  memory/' 

And  they  all  huddled  into  the  parlor.  But  in  a  mo 
ment  more  Mrs.  Molineux  had  invited  Mr.  Kuypers  if, 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  149 

after  his  journey,  he  would  not  like  to  go  to  his  room. 
And  he,  with  good  feeling,  which  he  showed  all  the 
evening,  gladly  took  himself  out  of  the  way.  And  so, 
as  Tom  returned  from  showing  him  up-stairs,  the  par 
lor  was  filled  with  those  "  God  made  there,"  as  the 
little  boy  used  to  say,  and  with  none  besides. 

"Now  tell  us  all  about  it,  dear  papa,"  cried  Tom. 

"  I  was  trying  to  tell  your  mother.  But  there  is  not 
much  to  tell.  Poor  Mr.  Kuypers  had  travelled  all  the 
way  from  Colorado  the  moment  he  heard  I  was  in 
trouble.  Yesterday  he  bought  the  Scorpion  in  the 
train  and  found  the  committee  was  down  on  us.  He 
drove  here  from  the  station  as  soon  as  the  train 
came  in.  He  missed  you  here,  and  drove  by  mis 
take  to  Trinity.  That  made  him  late  with  us.  And 
so,  as  the  service  had  begun,  he  waited  till  it  was 
done." 

"  Well !"  said  Bev,  perhaps  a  little  impatiently. 

"  But  as  soon  as  we  were  going  out  he  touched  me, 
and  said  he  had  come  to  find  me  in  the  matter  of  the 
Rio  Grande  vouchers.  Do  you  know,  Eliza,  I  can  af 
ford  to  laugh  at  it  now,  but  at  the  moment  I  thought 
he  was  a  deputy  of  the  Sergeant-at-arms  ?" 

"There!"  screamed  Tom.  "I  said  he  was  a  deputy- 
marshal  !" 

"  I  said,  'Certainly,'  and  I  laughed,  and  said  they 
seemed  to  interest  all  my  friends.  Then  he  said, '  Then 
you  have  them?  If  I  had  known  that  I  would  have 
spared  my  journey.'  This  threw  me  off  guard,  and  I 
said  I  supposed  I  had  them,  but  I  could  not  find  them. 
And  he  said,  eagerly — this  was  just  on  the  church-steps 
— <  But  I  can.' 


150  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Then  he  said  he  had  a  carriage  waiting,  and  he  bade 
me  jump  in. 

"  So  soon  as  we  were  in  the  carriage  he  explained — 
what  I  ought  to  have  remembered,  but  cannot  now 
recollect  for  the  life  of  me — that  after  General  Trebou 
returned  from  Texas  there  was  a  court  of  inquiry  ;  that 
there  was  some  question  about  these  very  supplies— 
the  beans  and  the  coffee  particularly.  They  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  landing  nor  with  the  Mexicans. 
And  the  court  of  inquiry  sent  one  day  from  the  War 
Department,  where  they  were  sitting,  to  our  office  for 
an  account,  because  we  were  said  to  have  it.  Mr.  Kuy- 
pers  was  their  messenger  to  us,  and,  because  we  had 
bound  them  all  together,  the  whole  file  was  sent  as  it 
was.  He  took  them,  and,  as  it  happened,  he  looked 
them  over,  and,  what  was  better,  he  remembered  them. 

"  Well,  that  court  of  inquiry  was  endless,  as  those 
army  inquiries  always  are.  Mr.  Kuypers  Avas  in  at 
tendance  all  the  time.  He  says  he  never  shall  forget 
it,  if  other  people  do. 

"So  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  we  were  in  trouble  at 
the  bureau — that  /  was  in  trouble,  I  mean,"  said  Mr. 
Molineux,  stoutly — "  he  knew  that  he  knew  what  no 
body  else  knew — that  the  vouchers  were  in  the  papers 
of  that  court  of  inquiry." 

"  And  he  came  all  the  way  to  tell  ?  What  a  good 
fellow  !" 

"  Yes,  he  came  on  purpose.  He  says  he  could  not 
help  coming.  He  says  he  made  two  or  three  tele 
grams,  but  every  time  he  tried  to  telegraph  he  felt 
as  if  he  were  shirking.  And  I  believe  he  was  right. 
I  believe  we  should  never  have  pulled  through  with- 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  151 

out  him.     '  Personal  presence  moves  the  world,'  as  Eli 
Thayer  used  to  say." 

"And  you  found  them?"  asked  Mrs.  Molineux, 
faintly  essaying  to  get  back  to  the  story. 

"  Oh  yes,  we  found  them ;  but  not  in  one  minute. 
You  see,  first  of  all,  I  had  to  go  to  the  chief  clerk  at 
the  War  Department  and  get  the  department  opened 
on  a  holiday.  Then  we  had  no  end  of  clerks  to  disturb 
at  their  Christmas  dinners,  and  at  last  we  found  a  good 
fellow  named  Breen  who  was  willing  to  take  hold  with 
Mr.  Kuypers.  And  Mr.  Kuypers  himself  "—here  he 
dropped  his  voice—"  why,  we  have  not  three  men  in 
all  the  departments  who  know  the  history  of  this  gov 
ernment,  or  the  system  of  its  records,  as  he  does! 

"  Once  in  the  office,  he  went  to  work  like  a  master. 
Breen  was  amazed.  Why,  we  found  those  documents 
in  less  than  half  an  hour! 

"Then  I  sent  Breen  with  a  note  to  the  Secretary. 
He  was  good  as  gold ;  came  down  in  his  own  carriage, 
congratulated  me  as  heartily — well,  almost  as  heartily 
—as  you  do,  Tom ;  and  took  us  both  round,  with  the 
files,  to  Mr.  McDermot,  the  chairman  of  the  House 
committee.  He  was  dining  with  his  mess  at  the  Sea- 
ton  House;  but  we  called  him  out,  and,  I  declare,  I 
believe  he  was  as  much  pleased  as  we  were. 

"I  only  stopped  to  make  him  give  me  receipts  for 
the  papers,  because  they  all  said  it  was  idle  to  take 
copies,  and  here  we  are !" 

In  the  hush  that  followed,  the  Brick  made  his  way 
up  on  his  father's  knee,  and  said : 

"And  now,  papa,  will  you  tell  us  the  story  of  the 
bear?  Tom  does  not  tell  it  very  well." 


152  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

They  all  laughed — they  could  well  afford  to  laugh 
now — and  Mr.  Molineux  was  just  beginning  upon  the 
story  of  the  bear  when  "Mr.  Kuypers  reappeared.  He 
had  in  this  short  time  revised  his  toilet,  and  looked, 
Mrs.  Molineux  said,  in  an  aside,  like  the  angel  of  light 
that  he  was.  "Bears!"  said  he.  "Are  there  any 
bears  in  Washington  ?  Why,  it  was  only  last  Mon 
day  that  I  killed  a  bear,  and  I  ate  him  on  Tuesday." 

"  Did  you  eat  him  all  ?"  said  the  Brick,  whose  rev 
erence  for  Mr.  Kuypers  was  much  more  increased  by 
this  story  than  by  any  of  the  unintelligible  conversa 
tion  which  had  gone  before.  But  just  as  Mr.  Kuypers 
began  on  the  story  of  the  bear,  Chloe  appeared  with 
beaming  face  and  announced  that  dinner  was  ready. 

That  dinner  which  this  morning  every  one  who  had 
any  sense  had  so  dreaded,  and  which  now  seemed  a 
festival  indeed  ! 

Well!  there  was  great  pretence  in  fun  at  form  in 
marshalling.  And  Mr.  Kuypers  gave  his  arm  to  Mat 
ty,  and  Horace  his  to  Laura,  and  Beverly  his  to  Flossy, 
and  Tom  brought  up  the  rear  with  the  Brick  on  his 
shoulders.  And  Mr.  Molineux  returned  thanks  and 
asked  a  blessing  all  together.  And  they  fell  to  on  the 
turkey  and  on  the  chicken-pie.  And  they  tried  to  talk 
about  Colorado  and  mining ;  about  Gold  Hill,  and  Hale 
and  Norcross,  and  Uncle  Sam  and  Overman  and  Yel 
low  Jacket.  But,  in  spite  of  them  all,  the  talk  would 
drift  back  to  Bundy  and  his  various  signs,  "^Our  House" 
and  "Tom -and -Jerry,"  to  the  wife  of  Mr.  Whilt- 
hangh,  to  Commodore  Benbow,  to  old  Mrs.  Gilbert 
and  Delaware  Avenue.  And  this  was  really  quite  as 
much  .the  fault  of  Mr.  Kuypers  as  it  was  of  any  of  the 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  153 

Molineux  family.  He  seemed  as  much  one  of  them  as 
Tom  himself  did.  This  anecdote  of  failure  and  that  of 
success  kept  cropping  out;  Waltsingham's  high-bred 
and  disguised  enthusiasm  for  the  triumph  of  the  office, 
and  the  satisfaction  Eben  Eicketts  would  feel  when  he 
was  told  the  Navy  never  had  the  vouchers— all  were 
commented  on.  Then  Mrs.  Molineux  would  start  and 
say,  "  We  are  talking  shop  again.  You  say  the  autumn 
has  been  mild  in  the  mountains?"  and  yet  in  two  min 
utes  they  would  be  on  the  trail  of  "  Search  and  Look" 
again. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  false  starts  that  Mr.  Kuypers 
explained  why  he  had  come,  which,  in  Horace's  mind, 
and  perhaps  in  the  minds  of  the  others,  had  been  the 
question  most  puzzling  of  all. 

"  Why  !"  said  Horace,  bluntly — "  had  you  ever  heard 
of  papa  before  ?" 

"Had  I  heard  of  him  ?"  said  Mr.  Kuypers.  "  I  think 
so.  Why,  my  dear  boy,  your  father  is  my  oldest  and 
kindest  friend !" 

At  this  exclamation,  even  Mrs.  Molineux  looked 
amazed,  Tom  laid  down  his  fork  and  looked  to  see  if 
the  man  were  crazy,  and  Mr.  Molineux  himself  was 
thrown  off  his  balance. 

Mr.  Kuypers  was  a  well-bred  man,  but  this  time  he 
could  not  conceal  his  amazement.  He  laid  down  knife 
and  fork  both,  looked  up,  and  almost  laughed  as  he 
said,  with  wonder : 

"  Don't  you  know  who  I  am  ?" 

"We  know  you  are  our  good  angel  to-day,"  said 
Mrs.  Molineux,  bravely,  "  and  that  is  enough  to 
know." 


154  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

"  But  don't  you  know  why  I  am  here,  or  what  sent 
me  ?" 

Mr.  Molineux  said  that  he  understood  very  well  that 
his  friend  had  wanted  to  see  justice  done,  and  that  he 
had  preferred  to  see  to  this  in  person. 

"  I  thought  you  looked  queer,"  said  Mr.  Kuypers, 
frankly ;  "  but  still  I  did  not  know  I  was  so  changed. 
Why,  don't  you  remember  Bruce?  You  remember 
Mrs.  Chappell,  surely  ?" 

"Are  you  Bruce?"  cried  Mr.  Molineux  —  and  he 
fairly  left  his  chair  and  went  round  the  table  to  the 
young  man.  "  Why,  I  can  see  it  now.  But  then- 
why,  you  were  a  boy,  you  know  —  and  this  black 
beard— 

"  But  pray  explain — pray  explain,"  cried  Tom.  "  The 
mysteries  increase  on  us.  Who  is  Mrs.  Chappell,  and, 
for  that  matter,  who  is  Bruce,  if  his  real  name  be  not 
Kuypers  ?" 

And  they  all  laughed  heartily.  People  got  back 
their  self-possession  a  little,  and  Mr.  Kuypers  ex 
plained. 

"  I  am  Bruce  Kuypers,"  said  he,  "  though  your  fa 
ther  does  not  seem  to  remember  the  Kuypers  part." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Molineux,  "I  cannot  remember  the 
Kuypers  part,  but  the  Bruce  part  I  remember  very 
well." 

"  My  mother  was  Mrs.  Kuypers  before  she  married 
Mr.  Chappell,  and  Mr.  Chappell  died  when  my  brother 
Ben  was  six  years  old  and  little  Lizzy  was  a  baby." 

"  Lizzy  was  my  godchild,"  said  Mrs.  Molineux,  who 
now  remembered  everything. 

"Certainly  she  was,  Mrs.  Molineux;  and  last  month 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  155 

Lizzy  was  married  to  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  presided 
over  the  melting  of  ingots.  We  marry  them  earlier  at 
the  West  than  you  do  here. 

"  Where  Lizzy  would  have  been,"  lie  said,  more  grave 
ly,  addressing  Torn  again,  "  where  my  mother  would 
have  been,  or  where  I  should  have  been  but  for  your 
father  and  mother  here  it  would  be  hard  to  tell.  And 
all  to-day  I  have  taken  it  for  granted  that  to  him,  as  to 
me,  this  has  been  one  part  of  that  old  Christmas !  Sure 
ly  you  remember  ?"  He  turned  to  Mrs.  Molineux. 

Yes.  Mrs.  Molineux  did  remember,  but  her  eyes 
were  all  running  over  with  tears,  and  she  did  not 
say  so. 

"Mr.  Molineux,"  said  Bruce  Kuypers,  again  address 
ing  Tom,  "  seventeen  years  ago  this  blessed  day  there 
was  a  Christmas  morning  over  beyond  Massachusetts 
Avenue  such  as  you  never  saw,  and  such  as  I  hope  you 
may  never  see. 

"  There  was  fire  in  the  stove  because  your  father  had 
sent  the  coal.  There  was  oatmeal  mush  on  the  table 
because  your  father  had  paid  my  mother's  scot  at  your 
father's  grocer's.  But  there  was  not  much  jollity  in 
that  house,  and  there  were  no  Christmas  presents  but 
what  your  mother  had  sent  to  Bruce  and  Ben  and 
Flora,  and  even  to  the  baby.  Still,  we  kept  up  such 
courage  as  we  could.  It  was  a  terribly  cold  day,  and 
there  was  a  wet  storm. 

"  All  of  a  sudden  a  carriage  stopped  at  the  door  and 
in  came  your  father  here. 

"  He  came  to  say  that  that  day's  mail  had  brought  a 
letter  from  Dr.  Wilder,  of  the  Navy,  covering  the  full 
certificate  that  William  Chappell's  death  was  caused 


156  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

by  exposure  in  the  service.  That  certificate  was  what 
my  mother  needed  for  her  pension.  She  never  could 
get  it,  but  your  father  here  had  sifted  and  worried  and 
worked.  The  Macedonian  arrived  Thursday  at  New 
York,  and  had  Dr.  Wilder  on  board ;  and  Friday  after 
noon  your  father  had  Wilder's  letter,  and  he  left  his 
own  Christmas  dinner  to  make  light  my  mother's  and 
mine. 

uThat  was  not  all.  Your  father,  as  he  came,  had 
stopped  to  see  Mr.  Birdsall,  who  was  then  Speaker  of 
the  House.  He  had  seen  the  Speaker  before,  and  had 
said  kind  things  about  me.  And  that  day  the  Speaker 
told  him  to  tell  me  to  come  and  see  him  at  his  room  at 
the  Capitol  next  day.  Oh,  how  my  mother  dressed 
me  up !  Was  there  ever  such  a  page  seen  before  ? 
What  with  your  father's  kind  words  and  my  dear 
mother's  extra  buttons,  the  Speaker  made  me  his  own 
page  the  next  day,  and  there  I  served  four  years.  It 
was  then  that  I  was  big  enough  to  go  into  the  War 
Department,  and  Mr.  Goodsell — he  was  the  next  Speak 
er,  if  you  remember — recommended  me  there. 

"  After  that,"  said  Bruce  Kuypers,  modestly,  "  I  did 
not  see  you  so  often,  but  I  did  use  to  see  you  some 
times,  and  I  did  not  think" — this  with  a  roguish  twin 
kling  of  the  eye — "  that  you  forgot  your  young  friends 
so  soon." 

"  I  remember  you,"  said  Tom.  "  I  used  to  think  you 
were  the  grandest  man  in  Washington.  You  gave  me 
the  first  ride  on  a  sled  I  ever  had — when  there  was 
some  exceptional  fall  of  snow." 

"  I  think  we  all  remember  Mr.  Kuypers  now,"  said 
Matty,  and  she  laughed  while  she  blushed.  "  He  al- 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  157 

ways  brought  things  for  our  stockings.  I  have  a 
Noah's  ark  up-stairs  now  that  he  gave  rne.  In  my 
youngest  days  I  had  a  queer  mixture  of  the  name  Bruce 
and  the  name  Santa  Glaus.  I  believe  I  thought  Santa 
Claus's  name  .was  Nicholas  Bruce.  I  am  sure  I  did 
not  know  that  Mr.  Bruce  had  any  other  name." 

"  If  you  had  said  you  were  Mr.  Chappell,"  said  Mr. 
Molineux,  "  I  should  have  known  you  in  a  minute." 

"But  I  was  not,"  said  the  young  man,  laughing. 

"  Well,  if  you  had  said  you  were  Bruce,  I  should  have 
known." 

"  Dear  me,  yes.  But  I  have  been  a  man  so  long — 
and  at  Gem  City  nobody  calls  me  Bruce  but  my  mother 
and  Lizzy.  So  I  said  I  was  Mr.  Ivuypers,  forgetting 
that  I  had  ever  been  a  boy.  But  now  I  am  in  Wash 
ington  again,  and  I  shall  remember  that.  Things 
change  here  very  fast  in  ten  years.  But  not  so  fast  as 
they  change  at  the  mines." 

And  now  everybody  was  at  ease.  How  Avell  Mrs. 
Molineux  recalled  to  herself — what  she  would  not  speak 
of — that  Christmas -day  which  Mr.  Kuypers  told  his 
story  of!  It  was  in  her  young  married  life.  She  had 
her  father  and  mother  to  dine  with  her,  and  the  event 
was  really  a  trial  in  her  young  experience.  And  then, 
just  as  the  old  folks  were  expected,  her  husband  had 
come  dashing  in,  and  had  asked  her  to  put  dinner  a 
little  later  because  he  had  this  good  news  for  the  poor 
widow  Chappell.  And  she  had  to  tell  her  father  and 
her  mother  when  they  came  that  they  must  all  wait 
for  his  return. 

The  widow  Chappell  was  one  of  those  waifs  who 
seem  attracted  to  Washington  by  some  fatal  law.  It 


158 

bad  been  two  or  tbree  months  before  that  Mr.  Moli- 
neux  had  been  asked  to  hunt  her  up  and  see  for  her. 
A  letter  had  come  asking  him  to  do  this  from  Mrs. 
Fales  in  Koxbury,  and  Mrs.  Fales  had  sent  money  for 
the  Chappells.  But  the  money  had  gone  on  back  rent 
and  shoes  and  the  rest,  and  the  wolf  was  very  nenr 
the  Chappells'  door  when  the  telegraph  announced  the 
Macedonian.  Mr.  Molineux  had  telegraphed  instanter 
to  this  Dr.  Wilder.  Dr.  Wilder  had  had  some  sense 
of  Christmas  promptness.  He  remembered  poor  Chap- 
pell  perfectly,  and  mailed  that  night  a  thorough  cer 
tificate.  This  certificate  it  was  which  Mr.  Molineux 
had  carried  to  the  poor  old  tenement  above  Massachu 
setts  Avenue,  and  this  had  made  happy  that  Christmas- 
day — and  this. 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Bruce  Kuypers,  almost  as  if  he 
were  thinking  aloud,  "  it  seems  so  queer  that  Christ 
mas  comes  and  goes  with  you  and  you  have  forgotten 
all  about  that  stormy  day  and  your  ride  to  Mrs.  Chap- 
pell's.  Why,  at  our  place  we  drink  Mr.  Molineux's 
health  every  Christmas-day,  and  I  am  afraid  the  little 
ones  used  to  think  you  had  a  red  nose,  a  gray  beard, 
and  came  down  chimneys !" 

"  As  at  another  house,"  said  Matty,  "  they  thought 
of  Mr.  Bruce — of  Noah's-ark  memory." 

"Anyway,"  said  Mr.  Molineux,  "any  crumbs  of 
comfort  Ave  scattered  that  day  were  bread  on  the 
waters  /" 

Of  Mr.  Kuypers's  quick  journey  the  main  points 
had  been  told.  Six  days  before,  by  some  good  luck, 
which  could  hardly  have  been  expected,  the  Gem  City 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  159 

Medium?*  despatch  from  Washington  was  full  enough 
to  be  intelligible.  It  was  headed  "  ANOTHER  SWINDLER 
NAILED."  It  said  that  Mr.  Mallinox,  of  the  Internal 
Improvement  Office,  had  feathered  his  nest  with  $500,- 
000  in  the  war,  in  a  pretended  expedition  to  the  Rio 
Grande.  It  had  now  been  discovered  that  there  never 
was  any  such  expedition,  and  the  correspondent  of 
the  Associated  Press  hoped  that  justice  would  be  done. 

The  moment  Bruce  Kuypers  read  this  he  was  anx 
ious.  Before  an  hour  passed  he  had  determined  to 
cross  to  the  Pacific  train  eastward.  Before  night  he 
was  in  a  sleeping-car. 

Day  by  day,  as  he  met  Eastern  papers,  he  searched 
for  news  of  the  investigation.  Day  by  day  he  met  it. 
But,  thanks  to  his  promptness,  he  had  arrived  in  time. 
They  were  all  hushed  to  silence  when  he  told  his 
growing  anxiety  from  day  to  day ;  and  when  he  told 
how  much  he  was  moved  at  finding  that  he  should  ar 
rive  on  Christinas -day  they  were  certainly  as  much 
moved  as  he. 

And  after  the  dinner  another  procession,  not  wholly 
unlike  the  rabble  rout  of  the  morning,  moved  from 
the  dining-room  to  the  great  front  parlor,  where  the 
tree  was  lighted,  and  parcels  of  gray  and  white  and 
brown  and  yellow  lay  around  on  mantel,  on  piano,  on 
chairs,  on  tables,  and  on  the  floor. 

No !  this  tale,  too  long  already,  will  not  tell  what 
the  presents  were  to  all  the  ten — to  Yenty,  Chloe,  Dia 
na,  and  all  of  their  color.  Only  let  it  tell  that  all  the 
ten  had  presents.  To  Mr.  Kuypers's  surprise — and  to 
every  one's  surprise  indeed— there  were  careful  parcels 
for  him,  as  for  the  rest ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that 


160  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

Horace  and  Laura  had  spelled  Chipah  a  little  wildly. 
The  truth  was  that  each  separate  person  had  feared 
that  he  would  feel  a  little  left  one  side,  he  to  whom 
so  much  was  due  that  day ;  and  each  person  several 
ly,  down  to  Brick  himself,  had  gone  secretly  to  select 
from  his  own  possessions  something  very  dear,  and 
had  wrapped  it  up  and  marked  it  for  the  stranger. 
When  Mr.  Kuypers  opened  a  pretty  parcel,  to  find 
Matty's  own  illustrated  Browning,  he  was  touched 
indeed.  When  in  a  rough  brown  paper  he  found  the 
Brick's  jack-knife,  labelled  "For  the  Man"  the  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes. 

The  next  day  the  Evening  Lantern  contained  this 
editorial  article : 

"The  absurd  fiasco  regarding  the  accounts  of  Mr.  Molineux, 
which  has  occupied  the  correspondents  of  the  provincial  press  for 
some  days,  and  has  even  been  adverted  to  in  New  York  journals 
claiming  the  title  of  'metropolitan,'  came  to  a  fit  end  at  the  Capitol 
yesterday.  The  wiseacre  owls  who  started  it  did  not  see  fit  to  put 
in  an  appearance  before  the  committee.  Mr.  Molineux  himself  sent 
to  the  chairman  a  most  interesting  manuscript  volume,  which  is 
indeed  a  valuable  historical  memorial  of  times  that  tried  men's  souls. 
The  committee,  and  other  gentlemen  present,  examined  this  curious 
record  with  great  interest.  Not  to  speak  of  the  minor  details,  an 
autograph  letter  from  the  late  lamented  General  Trebou  gives  full 
credit  to  the  Bureau  of  Internal  Improvement  for  the  skill  with  which 
they  executed  the  commission  given  them  in  a  department  quite 
out  of  their  line.  Our  brethren  of  the  Argus  will  be  pleased  to 
know  that  every  grain  of  oats  and  every  spire  of  straw  paid  for  by 
the  now  famous  $47,000  is  accounted  for  in  detail.  The  authenti 
cated  signatures  of  the  somewhat  celebrated  Camara  and  Garza  and 
the  mythical  Captain  Cole  appear.  Very  valuable  letters,  throwing 
interesting  light  on  our  relations  with  the  government  of  Mexico, 
from  the  pens  of  the  lamented  Adams  and  Prigg,  show  what  were 
the  services  of  those  two  Spanish  turncoats  and  their  allies. 


BREAD    ON    THE    WATERS  161 

"We  cannot  say  that  we  regret  the  attention  which  has  thus 
been  given  to  a  very  important  piece  of  history,  too  long  neglected 
in  the  rush  of  more  petty  affairs.  We  take  the  occasion,  however, 
to  enter  our  protest  once  more  against  this  preposterous  system  of 
'  Resolution,'  in  which,  as  it  were,  in  echo  to  every  niaiserie  of  every 
hired  pen  in  the  country,  the  House  degrades  itself  to  the  work,  of 
the  common  scavenger  ;  orders  at  immense  expense  an  investigation 
into  some  subject  where  all  well-informed  men  are  fully  advised — 
and  at  a  cost  of  the  national  treasure." 

Etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  to  the  end  of  that  chapter. 

But  I  fear  no  one  at  the  Molineux  mansion  read 
the  Lantern.  They  had  "  found  a  man  "  and  did  not 
need  a  lantern  to  look  farther.  It  was  as  Mr.  Moli 
neux  had  said :  "  He  had  cast  his  bread  upon  the 
waters,  and  had  found  it  after  many  days." 


GENERAL   GLOVER'S   TKUE   STORY 


[TiiE  following  story  is  better  than  most  stories  are,  because  it  is 
exactly  true,  excepting  the  names  given  to  the  parties  and  places. 
The  gentleman  whom  I  have  called  "  General  Glover"  has  permitted 
me  to  put  it  in  writing,  that  it  may  give  the  same  courage  to  other 
persons  which  it  has  given  to  him  and  to  me.  But,  at  his  request,  I 
have  changed  every  name  in  the  story  from  those  which  he  gave  me; 
and  I  assure  the  most  curious  reader  or  critic  that  he  will  find  it  im 
possible  to  ascertain  by  any  conjecture  who  are  the  parties  described. 
No  incident,  however,  in  the  story,  is  drawn  in  the  slightest  degree 
from  imagination.  I  tell  the  tale  as  it  was  told  to  me,  and  print  it  after 
it  has  had  the  revision  of  "General  Glover."— E.  E.  HALE,  writing  in 
1888.] 


I  was  riding  across  country  to  Duluth  when  my  old 
friend  General  Glover  came  into  the  palace-car.  We 
two  were  born  at  very  nearly  the  same  time;  we  like 
each  other  and  respect  each  other.  We  have  knocked 
about  the  world  a  good  deal,  and  do  not  meet  each 
other  as  often  as  we  wish  we  did  ;  but  when  we  meet 
we  begin  where  we  left  off,  and  enjoy  the  meeting.  At 
least,  I  am  sure  I  do,  and  I  think  he  does. 

As  soon  as  the  first  inquiries  were  passed  I  said  to 
him :  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me  again  your  story  of  the 
letter  you  wrote  to  a  stranger.  At  the  time  you  told 
me  I  repeated  it  to  my  wife,  and  afterwards  to  one  or 
two  other  persons;  but  now  I  am  afraid  to  tell  it,  it  is 


GENERAL  GLOVER' S  TRUE  STORY  163 

so  strange,  and  I  am  always  thinking  that  ray  imagina 
tion  has  added  something  to  it." 

General  Glover  looked  at  me  with  a  surprise  not 
wholly  of  amusement.  It  was  quite  clear  to  me  that 
the  story  was  a  serious  matter  to  him,  as  it  was  to  me; 
and  he  told  it  to  me  for  the  second  time.  I  think  it  was 
four  years  ago  since  I  heard  it  first,  and  it  speaks  as 
well  for  my  memory  as  for  his  that  I  should  recognize 
each  slightest  detail  as  a  thing  which  had  impressed 
itself  upon  his  careful  mind,  so  that  this  narrative  was 
identically  the  same  as  the  first  was.  It  was  as  if  you 
had  struck  a  second  impression  from  a  stereot}^pe  plate 
which  you  had  not  used  for  four  years. 

"  I  was  sitting  at  my  desk  at  Xeres,"  he  said,  "  an<^ 
working  through  my  daily  mail.  My  custom  was  to 
attend  to  the  business  of  the  firm  first,  and  to  leave  the 
personal  letters  to  be  answered  in  the  afternoon.  It 
was  now  afternoon,  and  I  turned  to  the  six  or  eight 
letters  which  I  had  for  answer. 

"  Among  these  was  one  from  a  man  for  whom  I  had 
secured  a  place  in  the  Navy  in  the  outset  of  the  Civil 
"War.  If  you  remember,  I  was  then  at  the  head  of  the 
Bunting  Board,  and  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the 
enlargement  of  the  Navy.  Also,  I  was  myself  connect 
ed  with  the  service.  I  had  been  in  service  on  the  sea 
board  all  my  life,  and  knew,  naturally  enough,  a  great 
many  sailors  in  the  merchant  marine.  Hundreds  of 
such  men  came  to  me,  and  it  was  with  my  recommen 
dation  of  them  that  they  received  their  places  in  that 
volunteer  service  which  was  of  such  infinite  advantage 
to  the  country  in  the  war.  Among  these  hundreds 
was  a  good  fellow  who  had  been,  I  should  say,  in  the 


164  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

coasting  trade;  but  I  do  not  remember  what  he  had 
been.  He  wanted  to  serve  the  country,  and,  at  my 
recommendation,  he  was  appointed,  as  other  men  were 
appointed,  a  masters  mate.  As  a  master's  mate  he  did 
his  duty,  rose  to  be  a  master,  afterwards  obtained  a 
lieutenant's  commission,  and  so  went  wellnigh  through 
the  war,  until,  by  an  accident — not,  I  think,  a  wound- 
he  was  so  far  disabled  that  he  could  no  longer  go  to 
sea.  I  did  not  know  this  at  the  time;  there  was  no 
reason  why  I  should  know  it ;  I  had  nothing  to  do 
with  him,  and  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  me.  lie  was 
to  me  no  more  than  one  post  in  this  rail-fence  which 
we  are  passing  now  is,  as  distinct  from  another.  I 
had  signed  the  papers,  I  suppose,  during  the  Avar,  of 
thousands  of  men  who  had  more  or  less  to  do  with  our 
Bunting  Board,  and  this  man,  his  name  or  his  affairs, 
made  no  more  impression  upon  me  than  the  rest  of 
them  did. 

"  But  among  the  letters  of  this  particular  afternoon, 
as  I  said,  was  a  letter  from  this  man.  It  was  a  gentle 
manly  letter,  short  and  to  the  point,  in  which  he  told 
me  that  he  received  his  appointment  on  my  recommen 
dation  ;  that,  after  some  years  of  service  he  had  been 
obliged  to  cease  going  to  sea,  on  account  of  the  acci 
dent  of  which  I  speak.  He  now  asked  me  if  I  were 
willing  to  write  to  the  head  of  the  Pension  Bureau  to 
ask  that  his  claim  might  be  examined  and  acted  upon 
immediately.  He  said  that  neither  he  nor  his  counsel 
had  succeeded  in  obtaining  any  letters  from  the  Pen 
sion  Office  telling  them  when  action  would  be  taken 
on  his  claim.  He  remembered  that  I  was  the  person 
who  originally  introduced  him  into  the  Navy,  and  he 


165 

thought  a  letter  from  me  might  obtain  an  answer  where 
he  had  failed. 

"  I  recalled,  as  well  as  I  could,  the  circumstances  in 
which  he  first  came  to  me,  and  I  said,  in  a  short  letter, 
what  I  could  do  to  his  advantage,  in  order  that  he 
might  use  my  recommendation,  so  far  as  it  went,  in  his 
application,  and  then  I  went  on  with  my  other  letters. 

"  I  had  finished  the  whole  correspondence  when 
something,  which  I  do  not  understand  and  you  do 
not  understand,  made  me  take  this  letter  to  him  out 
from  the  pile.  I  opened  it,  looked  at  his  letter  again, 
and  looked  at  tbe  letter  which  I  had  written  to  the 
Pension  Bureau.  Clearly,  I  had  done  all  he  asked 
me  for,  and  I  folded  both  envelopes  again  and 
sealed  them.  I  went  on  with  my  other  work.  Still,  I 
was  haunted  with  the  feeling  that  this  thing  was  left 
unfinished,  and  I  opened  both  the  letters  once  more.  I 
read  his  letter  again,  I  read  my  letter  to  the  Pension 
Bureau,  and  I  read  the  note  which  I  had  written  to 
him.  This  time,  after  reading  his  letter  to  me  and  mine 
to  him  once  and  again,  I  enclosed  in  my  envelope  to 
him  some  money,  without  saying  why,  for  indeed  I  did 
not  know.  This  *  finally  finished'  my  correspondence, 
as  I  supposed;  I  sealed  the  letter  again,  and,  finding 
that  I  could  do  nothing  in  my  office,  put  on  my  coat, 
took  all  the  letters  I  had  been  writing,  passed  from  my 
private  room  through  the  counting-room,  and  left  the 
letters  for  the  mail. 

"But  I  was  not  permitted  to  leave  the  door  of  the 
office.  In  obedience  to  the  impulse  which  I  had  now 
obeyed  twice,  I  went  back  to  the  mailing-box,  took  out 
my  letter  to  him  again,  went  back  to  my  private  office, 


166 

/ 

and  read  it  once  more ;  read  his  letter  now  for  the  third 
or  fourth  time,  and  this  time  wrote  a  new  letter  to  my 
old  friend  Colonel  Sharp,  who  lived  in  the  town  from 
which  the  officer  had  written  to  me.  I  asked  Sharp  to 
be  good  enough  to  find  him,  to  find  what  his  condition 
was,  and  that  of  his  family,  and  if  he  found  that  they 
needed  any  help,  to  render  it  to  them  at  my  expense, 
if  it  should  be  necessary.  I  sealed  and  stamped  this 
letter,  added  it  to  my  mail,  and  this  time  I  was  per 
mitted  to  leave  my  office  and  to  go  to  my  home. 

"We  had  a  nightly  mail  at  that  time  from  Xeres  to 
Abydos,  which  was  the  city  in  which  he  was  living, 
and,  as  I  learned  afterwards,  my  letter  to  him  arrived 
the  next  morning.  It  will  save  trouble  if  I  give  you  a 
name  for  him.  We  will  call  him  Needles,  though  that 
is  not  his  name. 

"  Thirty-six  hours  after  I  had  written  I  received  his 
reply.  I  have  it  now,  and  I  will  show  it  to  you  at 
some  time.  It  was  a  most  modest  and  simple  narrative 
of  the  steady  decline  of  his  fortunes  since  the  accident 
which  I  have  described.  It  seemed  he  had  a  wife  and 
four  or  five  children,  of  whom  he  spoke  with  pride  and 
confidence.  But  he  had  been  educated  as  a  sailor,  and 
knew  no  arts  but  those  of  a  sailor ;  he  had  no  way  of 
earning  a  living,  now  that  he  could  not  go  to  sea ;  and 
he  had  gone  through  all  the  misery  of  sickness,  en 
forced  idleness,  of  his  income  becoming  less  and  less, 
until  it  wras  nothing. 

"  He  and  his  wife  had  sold  every  article  of  property 
and  dress  which  they  could  sell  for  the  food  and 
clothing  of  their  children.  They  had  been  obliged  to 
withdraw  their  children  from  school,  because  they 


GENERAL   GLOVER'S    TRUE    STORY  167 

could  not  present  a  proper  appearance  there.  It  was 
under  such  circumstances  that,  needing  his  pension,  of 
course,  he  had  written  to  me  the  modest  letter  which  I 
had  received,  asking  for  my  assistance  in  hastening  the 
decision  on  it. 

"  On  the  night  before  his  present  writing — that  is, 
on  the  evening  which  immediately  followed  the  after 
noon  of  my  writing  to  him — he  and  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  were  cowering  around  the  little  stove  which 
warmed  their  lodging.  The  fire  in  it  was  maintained 
by  coals  and  cinders  which  the  children  had  picked  up 
in  the  street.  He  had  not  a  cent  to  pay  for  any  arti 
cle  of  food,  and  he  and  the  children  were  all  hungry. 
They  reviewed  the  position  as  well  as  they  could,  and 
it  was  then  that  his  wife  said  that  she  was  sure  that 
brighter  times  must  be  before  them.  For  she  still  be 
lieved  that  God  did  not  mean  that  people  should  perish 
who  had  not  intentionally  offended  Him  or  fought 
against  His  law.  She  knew  that  they  had  done  their 
duty  as  well  as  they  knew  how,  and  she  believed  that 
God  would  carry  them  through.  She  had  no  ground 
for  this  belief  excepting  her  certainty  that  neither  she 
nor  her  husband  nor  her  children  had  intentionally 
done  what  was  wrong.  With  such  comfort  as  they 
could  get  from  such  expressions  as  hers  they  all  went 
to  bed,  the  earlier  because  they  had  nothing  to  eat,  and 
perhaps  because  the  fire  was  not  very  satisfactory. 

"  For  the  same  reason  they  slept,  or  stayed  in  bed, 
late  in  the  morning.  One  is  not  tempted  to  rise  early 
when  he  has  nothing  to  do  and  nothing  to  eat.  But 
they  did  rise,  though  late,  and  were  rekindling  the 
fire,  I  think,  when  the  postman  stopped  at  the  door, 


168  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHEKS 

and  brought  in  the  letter  which  I  had  three  times 
opened,  and  in  which  I  had,  as  I  say,  enclosed  the 
money. 

"  Needles  wrote  to  me  that  when  the  bill  fell  to  the 
ground  from  the  letter,  as  it  did,  he  felt  as  he  should 
have  felt  if  it  had  dropped  from  the  hand  of  an  angel. 
He  had  not  asked  me  for  money ;  he  had  not  asked 
anybody  for  money.  He  asked  me  for  my  influence  in 
the  Pension  Bureau.  Without  asking,  the  money  had 
come.  He  felt,  and  his  wife  felt,  as  if  it  had  come  in 
answer  to  their  prayer." 

As  General  Glover  told  me  this  story  I  was  re 
minded  of  a  phrase  of  my  friend  Mr.  Naylor,  who  used 
to  say  that  there  was  no  condition  in  human  life  in 
which  a  check  on  New  York  would  not  answer  most 
purposes.  It  was  clear  enough  that  the  crisp  green 
back  which  had  been  enclosed  in  General  Glover's  let 
ter  had  been  quite  as  valuable  a  workman  in  that 
starving  family  as  Aladdin's  slave  of  the  ring  would 
have  been. 

A  skilful  child  was  at  once  despatched  to  buy  the 
materials  for  breakfast,  and  they  were  well  engaged  in 
the  first  meal  which  they  had  eaten  for  several  clays 
when  another  party  appeared  upon  the  stage.  This 
time  it  was  not  the  postman;  it  was  Colonel  Sharp, to 
whom  General  Glover's  fourth  letter  had  been  written. 
I  wish  I  could  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  General 
Glover's  description  of  Colonel  Sharp's  methods.  He 
sat,  cheering  all  parties  by  his  lively  talk — I  wish  I 
were  talking  with  him  now — and  when  he  saw  that 
the  breakfast  was  well  finished  he  took  Needles  with 
him  to  the  great  post-office  at  Abydos.  Colonel  Sharp 


GENERAL    GLOVER^S    TRUE    STORY  169 

was  a  pretty  important  person  in  that  city,  and,  break 
ing  all  lines  of  defence,  he  soon  found  himself  with  Mr. 
Needles  in  the  private  room  of  the  postmaster,  whom, 
for  the  purpose  of  this  story,  we  will  call  Mr.  Eow- 
land  Hill.  General  Glover  went  on  to  describe  the  in 
terview. 

"  Sharp  told  Mr.  Hill  that  there  was  a  deserving 
man  who  had  served  the  country,  and  that  I  was  in 
terested  in  him,  and  Hill  shook  hands  with  official 
cordiality,  and  said  he  should  be  interested  in  any 
friend  of  mine  and  his. 

"  Colonel  Sharp  said  that  he  wanted  Hill  to  appoint 
Mr.  Needles  to  a  good  place  in  that  post-office.  Mr. 
Hill  at  once  assumed  the  official  air  of  distress,  and  ex 
plained  how  many  hundreds  of  applications  he  received 
every  day  from  very  deserving  people ;  but  he  would 
put  Mr.  Needles's  name  on  the  list,  and  would  send  for 
him  the  first  time  he  had  an  opportunity. 

"  Colonel  Sharp  said,  at  this,  that  he  was  very  glad 
Mr.  Needles  interested  Mr.  Hill,  that  neither  of  them 
was  much  occupied,  and  that  they  would  stay  in  the 
private  office  until  the  opportunity  should  occur.  At 
this  announcement  that  the  office  would  need  three  per 
manent  chairs  for  some  time,  Mr.  Rowland  Hill  was 
more  startled.  '  In  short,'  said  Colonel  Sharp  to  him 
good-naturedly,  'the  official  methods  will  not  answer 
in  this  case.  Mr.  Needles  deserves  the  place ;  he  must 
have  the  place ;  General  Glover  and  I  both  mean  that 
he  shall  have  the  place  ;  and  you  may  as  well  give  it  to 
him  now  as  to  give  it  to  him  next  week.'  There  are 
men  who  can  say  such  things,  who  have  earned  the 
right  to  say  them  by  long  and  distinguished  service  to 


170  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

the  country.  Mr.  Hill  knew  perfectly  well  that  this 
was  one  of  those  cases,  and  when,  therefore,  Mr.  Nee 
dles  walked  home  that  morning  to  his  wife  it  was  to 
explain  to  her  that  he  was  to  go  on  duty  in  the  post- 
office  of  Abydos,  with  a  proper  salary,  that  afternoon. 

"All  this  he  explained,"  said  General  Glover,  "in 
the  letter  of  which  I  told  you,  which  I  received  thirty- 
six  hours  after  I  enclosed  the  bill  to  him." 

Here  ends  the  first  half  of  General  Glover's  story  to 
me  as  he  told  it  on  the  train.  I  wish  the  reader  to  ob 
serve,  however,  that  this  first  half  is  accompanied  by  a 
second  half,  which  transpired  several  years  after. 

Mr.  Needles  did  his  work  so  well  in  the  new  office 
that  every  one  liked  him.  Had  it  not  been  indoor 
work,  and  he  a  sailor,  needing  outdoor  life,  this  story 
would  end  here.  But  the  close  confinement  of  the 
office  was  bad  for  him,  and  the  doctor  told  him  that  he 
could  not  stand  it.  He  did  not  write  this  to  General 
Glover  till  he  had  found  where  he  must  go.  Then  it 
proved  that  in  a  bureau  which  is  under  the  Treasury, 
which  I  will  call  the  Bureau  of  Ked  Tape,  they  needed 
an  outdoor  invoice  man.  It  was  work  that  he  could 
do,  and  he  applied  to  be  transferred  there.  He  wrote 
to  General  Glover,  to  tell  him  why  he  wanted  to  re 
move,  and  asked  for  his  help  at  Washington. 

Help  at  Washington,  indeed !  The  head  of  the 
Treasury  had  been  at  the  general's  side  in  those  old 
days  of  '61  and  '62,  and,  as  soon  as  the  mail  could  send 
it,  the  new  appointment  was  made  secure. 

And  from  that  time,  for  many  years,  there  was  no 
correspondence  between  General  Glover  and  these 
friends. 


GENERAL   GLOVER^S   TRUE    STORY  171 

Yes !  years  passed  away ;  I  do  not  know  how  many. 
General  Glover,  who  is  a  man  of  a  thousand  duties, 
all  of  which  he  does  well,  went  hither,  went  thither, 
and  may  not  have  thought  of  the  letter  or  the  answer 
once  in  a  month.  Needles  never  wrote  to  him.  He 
never  wrote  to  Needles.  As  I  said,  borrowing  his 
phrase  as  we  flew  along  in  the  express  train,  one  such 
man,  till  the  letter  came,  did  not  differ  from  another 
more  than  one  post  in  a  rail-fence  from  that  which  is 
next  to  it. 

But  the  letter,  and  what  came  from  it,  made  a  dif 
ference.  Yes,  and  the  memory  of  that  letter,  and  the 
picture  of  the  stove,  and  the  children  and  their  mother 
sleeping  late,  and  all  the  rest  which  I  have  told  you, 
did  sometimes  come  back  to  General  Glover. 

And  so  when,  as  I  say,  years  had  gone  by,  as  he  was 
one  day  making  a  visit  in  the  great  roaring  city  which 
I  have  called  Abydos,  he  told  the  story,  as  he  told  it  to 
me  and  as  I  have  told  it  to  you.  He  was  making  a 
call  at  the  Hotel  Esterhazy  on  Mrs.  Fonblanque,  whom 
perhaps  you  know,  and  he  told  this  story. 

"  You  say  he  lives  in  this  city  ?"  said  she,  very  much 
interested  in  the  story.  "Do  you  never  go  to  see 
them?" 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  never  been  to  see  them." 

"  Might  I  see  them  ?  Where  do  they  live  ?  What  is 
his  name  ?"  she  asked,  somewhat  eagerly. 

And  the  general  confessed  that  since  he  began  to 
tell  the  story  he  had  been  feeling  for  the  name,  but  it 
had  escaped  him. 

"  If  you  had  not  asked  me,  however,  I  think  I  should 
have  caught  it.  Queer  that  I  cannot  recall  it." 


172  SUSAN'S  ESCOET,  AND  OTHERS 

"  And  you  have  not  seen  him?"  said  she. 

"  No.  I  should  not  know  the  man  from  Adam  if  he 
came  in  at  that  door."  And  at  that  instant,  as  if  the 
man  were  coming,  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  A 
servant  entered  with  a  card  "  For  General  Glover." 

The  general  read  it,  and  bade  the  man  say  he  would 
see  the  gentleman  in  the  reading-room.  He  turned  to 
Mrs.  Fonblanque  :  "  What  were  you  asking  me  ?" 

"  I  was  asking  the  name  of  the  man  whose  story  you 
told  me." 

"  Yes — you  were.     And  I  did  not  know  it." 

"  You  said,"  continued  she,  "  that  you  should  not 
know  him  if  he  came  in  at  that  door." 

"  I  did  so.     And  here  is  his  name." 

"  Do  not  tell  me  that  this  is  that  man's  card." 

"  It  is  his  card,  and  I  am  going  down  to  see  him."  So 
he  left  Mrs.  Fonblanque  to  her  reflections. 

Sure  enough,  there  was  his  friend.  He  was  twenty 
years  older  than  when,  as  a  young  man,  he  flung  him 
self  into  his  country's  cause.  There  were  the  marks  of 
his  accident,  and  there  were  the  marks  of  his  twenty 
years'  work.  And  both  these  men  went  back,  in  mem 
ory,  to  those  eager  days  when  the  war  began.  But  it 
was  not  of  them  that  the  younger  had  come  to  talk. 
He  was  in  trouble  again.  "  You  will  think  I  am  always 
in  trouble,  and  you  will  think  I  always  fall  back  on 
you." 

General  Glover  is  not  one  of  those  people  who  turn 
over  their  own  benefactions  like  savory  bonbons;  he 
does  not  often  think  of  them  indeed.  He  said,  cheer 
ily,  that,  quite  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  long  since  he 
had  heard  from  his  friend. 


173 


"  Nor  would  you  hear  from  me  now,"  said  the  other, 
"  if  I  could  help  it.  But  I  cannot  help  it.  I  come  to 
you,  of  course.  My  life  is  all  to  change,  and  I  do  not 
know  how.  I  come  to  you  to  ask.  I  should  do  wrong," 
he  said,  very  seriously,  "connected  as  you  and  I  have 
been,  if  I  did  anything  without  your  advice— nay,  with 
out  your  permission." 

The  general  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  But  the 
man  was  not  weak — he  was  not  chattering  compliment. 
He  was  speaking  with  the  deepest  seriousness.  "My 
life,  since  I  entered  the  Navy,  has  been  all  wrought  in 
with  your  instructions.  I  should  be  wrong  if  I  did  not 
come  for  them  now." 

Then  he  unfolded  his  budget  of  miseries,  and  ex 
plained  that  he  was  worse  off  than  lie  had  been  that 
day  of  the  postman  and  the  letter.  Worse  off,  because 
a  second  fall  is  worse  than  the  first. 

This  was  the  story  : 

At  the  time  when  he  was  transferred  from  the  post- 
office  to  the  Bureau  of  Eed  Tape,  at  the  general's 
intercession,  it  had  been  necessary,  under  such  civil- 
service  rules  as  then  existed,  that  he  should  file  a 
proper  certificate  of  character,  and  he  had  done  so. 

Now  this  certificate,  alas !  was  headed  by  the  most 
distinguished  of  General  Glover's  friends  in  that  city, 
Governor  Oglethorpe ! 

But  in  the  course  of  five  or  six  years  there  had  grown 
up  a  great  feud  in  the  party,  and  Governor  Oglethorpe 
headed  one  side  and  Mr.  Clodius  headed  the  other. 

And  a  week  before  the  time  we  have  come  to,  Mr. 
Clodius  had  been  appointed  from  Washington  to  be  the 
head  of  our  Bureau  of  Eed  Tape. 


174 

And  every  man  in  the  office  knew  that  all  their  cer 
tificates  had  been  examined  on  Wednesday,  and  that 
all  Governor  Oglethorpe's  men  would  be  dismissed  on 
Friday. 

It  was  now  Thursday  evening. 

"  I  only  heard  of  this  to-day,"  said  the  officer  we  are 
interested  in.  "I  would  not  tell  my  wife.  But  she 
knew  something  was  the  matter.  But  when  the  even 
ing  paper  came,  I  saw  you  were  here  at  the  Esterhazy  ; 
and  then  I  knew  it  was  all  right." 

•'  All  right,  dear  friend !"  said  the  general,  in  real 
distress.  "  It  is  all  wrong.  I  do  not  know  this  Clodius 
—have  hardly  heard  of  him.  I  am  out  of  politics  these 
five  years.  None  of  them  know  me  or  care  for  me.  I 
cannot  help  you." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  can  help  me,"  said  the  man,  simply 
and  confidently.  "  And  }^ou  will.  That  is  why  I 
came.  I  told  my  wife  it  was  all  right — and  it  is." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  understand  nothing  about  it. 
Even  the  people  at  Washington  do  not  care  for  me 
now.  They  have  forgotten  me.  I  would  gladly  help 
you  ;  but  1  am  as  powerless  as  a  child." 

Still  he  was  touched  —  how  could  he  help  being 
touched? — by  the  man's  simple  faith. 

"  Of  course,  I  will  write  a  letter  for  you.  But  it  will 
do  no  good.  Your  Mr.  Clodius  cares  nothing  for  me  or 
mine.  Stay  here,  however,  and  I  will  go  and  write  it." 

So  he  crossed  the  hotel  floor  to  the  private  office, 
where,  not  the  "  gentlemanly  clerk,"  but  Mr.  Mann, 
the  wise  director  of  the  whole,  was  sitting. 

"Mann,"  said  the  general,  "do  you  know  this 
Clodius?" 


GENERAL  GLOVER5 S  TRUE  STORY  175 

"I  should  think  I  did,"  said  he.  "He  sat  in  that 
chair  half  an  hour  ago.  William !"  and  he  struck  his 
bell.  "  See  if  Mr.  Clodius  is  in  75." 

"  No,  no ;  I  do  not  want  to  see  him.  But  who  knows 
him  well  enough— well,  to  tell  him  a  story?" 

"  I  should  think  I  did.  I  have  got  him  this  office  in 
the  Red  Tape  Bureau.  He  would  not  be  there  but  for 
me." 

"Is  that  possible?"  said  the  general,  a  little  awe 
struck.  "  I  want  to  tell  him  about  one  of  the  people 
in  it." 

"There  are  paper  and  ink.  Write  a  note  to  me,  and 
it  shall  go  to  him.  Man  to  be  kept  in  ?  He  shall  stay 
in.  If  there  is  anything  Clodius  wants,  it  is  to  oblige 
me.  At  least,  those  were  the  last  words  he  said  to  me 
when  he  left  this  room." 

The  general  wrote  his  note,  in  a  few  lines,  as  such 
men  can.  Mr.  Mann  endorsed  it,  "  Please  see  to  this." 
The  waiter -took  it  to  75. 

There  came  back  a  card,  with  "All  right— Mr. 
Clodius."  And  fifteen  minutes  after  General  Glover 
had  left  the  reading-room  he  returned  with  this  card 
to  his  friend. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  the  man,  eager,  modest,  and 
simple  in  his  gratitude.  "  I  told  you  that  it  would  be 
wrong  for  me  to  do  anything  without  consulting  you." 

And  General  Glover  went  back  to  Mrs.  Fonblanque, 
and  told  her  the  end  of  the  story. 

I  told  a  story  somewhat  like  this  to  a  very  wise  man 
last  week,  and  he  forced  himself  to  say :  "  Yes,  it  shows 
how  closely  we  are  all  jumbled  together  in  this  little 


176 

world."  But  he  forced  himself  to  say  this,  and  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  he  was  wondering  if  it  did  not  show 
a  great  deal  more.  And  General  Glover  thinks,  and 
Mrs.  Fonblanque  thinks,  and  Needles  thinks,  and  his 
wife  thinks,  and  I  think,  that  it  shows  a  great  deal 
more. 

We  think  that  outside  the  people  that  write  letters 
and  put  them  in  the  post-office  there  are  unseen  people 
who  tell  them  what  to  say.  We  think  that  behind  you 
and  me,  who  come  arid  go,  there  are  sometimes  unseen 
hands  which  show  us  where  to  go  and  where  to  come. 

And  those  of  us  who  write  stories  sometimes  put  into 
them  such  tales  of  crisis  as  that  in  which  Jane  Eyre 
hears  the  cry  of  her  lover,  though  he  is  two  hundred 
miles  away.  But  we  do  not  put  in  such  things  merely 
to  serve  the  purpose  of  the  story.  We  put  them  in  be 
cause,  if  we  did  not  put  them  in,  the  story  would  not 
be  true  to  life. 


BOTH    THEIR   HOUSES 


A   STORY   OF   TRUE    LOVE 


"  I  SHALL  not  go,  old  fellow  ;  that  is  the  whole  of  it !" 

"  I  shall  be  awfully  lonely,"  said  Fritz,  in  reply. 

"  Of  course  you  will,  and  of  course  I  shall.  But  some 
time  or  other  we  must  be  lonely.  Each  of  us  has  been 
lonely  before." 

"  But  what  will  mother  say  ?" 

"That  I  have  to  find  out  this  morning,"  said  Eo- 
mayne.  "  And  I  will  put  it  through  before  I  am  an 
hour  older.  I  tell  you,  old  fellow,  the  way  is  to  make 
up  your  mind,  and  then  hold  on.  Wax  in  your  ears, 
like  that  old  fellow  we  had  to  do  in  the  Greek ;  '  no 
such  word  as  fail,'  and  all  that.  I  thought  this  all  out 
at  church,  when  he  was  talking  about  something  else. 
The  minute  I  heard  Lucia  say  that  mother  was  going 
to  turn  that  black  gown  again,  I  said, '  Why  should  she 
turn  it?'  I  have  seen  it  turned  four  times  already. 
And  then,  of  course,  it  came  over  me  that  the  gown 
was  to  be  turned  so  that  she  need  not  buy  a  new  gown. 
And  she  did  not  want  to  buy  a  new  gown  because  she 
wanted  me  to  go  to  Princeton.  Then  I  said :  l  Prince 
ton  be  hanged !  I  will  go  into  business.' ': 
12 


178  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTIIEKS 

"  And  you  never  thought  of  me,  Ro,"  said  Fritz,  a 
little  sadly. 

"Dear  old  fellow,  yes,  I  thought  of  you.  But  the 
difference  is,  you  like  it  and  I  hate  it.  You  know  the 
difference  between  an  abscissa  and  a  horseshoe  when 
you  see  them  ;  I  have  to  look  in  a  book  to  see  which  is 
which.  You  will  have  your  part,  which  is  harder  than 
mine.  You  will  have  to  live  alone  in  those  college  bar 
racks,  and  we  shall  only  have  good  times  together  in 
vacation.  I  shall  stay,  and  do  something  I  like  every 
blessed  day  of  my  life.  Do  not  make  it  any  harder  for 
me.  I  am  going  to  see  mother  now." 

"  In  short,  my  dear  mother,  for  this  once  I  must  have 
my  way."  And  he  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  stroked 
her  smooth  cheek  with  his  hand. 

His  mother  was  crying ;  but  when  she  paused  before 
ans\yering  those  words,  he  felt  that  she  yielded  the 
point.  He  knew  how  she  hated  to  give  it  up ;  he  hated 
to  pain  her;  but  he  had  determined  the  night  before. 
He  had  gone  on  his  knees  in  prayer  that  he  might  carry 
through  his  wish  ;  and  though  he  had  often  prayed  be 
fore,  he  had  never  knelt  to  pray.  The  boy  determined  ; 
he  meant  to  succeed ;  and  he  succeeded. 

Their  father  had  died  so  long  ago  that  there  was  lit 
tle  left  to  either  boy  of  his  presence  but  the  memory 
of  his  form.  Three  little  girls  and  two  boys  had  cow 
ered  around  Mrs.  Montague  on  the  day  of  the  funeral. 
Of  these,  the  younger  did  not  remember  their  father 
at  all,  and  Eomayne  and  Fritz  only  remembered  that 
he  kissed  them  when  they  went  to  bed,  and  told  them 
how  he  used  to  ride  to  mill  with  a  bag  of  corn.  Then 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  179 

had  come  happy  years  to  them,  and  even  to  their  moth 
er — not  so  desolate  and  black  as  she  had  imagined  they 
would  be,  in  foresight.  The  girls  grew  up  cheerful  and 
light-hearted.  The  boys  were  ready,  obedient,  well- 
meaning,  unselfish,  and  brave.  They  breakfasted  on 
milk  and  oatmeal,  where,  had  their  father  lived,  they 
would  have  breakfasted  on  beefsteak  with  an  omelet. 
But  they  were  as  sturdy  and  strong  on  the  one  diet  as 
on  the  other.  They  enjoyed  life ;  they  made  life  cheer 
ful  in  the  household ;  and,  had  Mrs.  Montague  known 
it,  the  mere  necessity  that  they  should  go  on  all  her 
errands,  should  split  the  wood  for  the  fires  and  kindle 
them  in  the  morning,  should  black  their  own  boots,  and 
in  general  be  their  own  servants,  Avas  giving  them  an 
education  which  they  would  certainly  have  lost,  had 
not  Mr.  Montague  been  thrown  from  his  horse,  and 
had  not  the  handsome  salary  stopped  which  he  had  re 
ceived  as  treasurer  of  the  Kosciusko  Rolling-mill. 

"  Fritz  shall  study  enough  for  him  and  me,  dear  moth 
er  ;  and  I  will  work  enough  for  me  and  him,  and  for 
you  and  Effie  and  Lucia  and  Poll." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  will  do,"  said  she,  and  she 
kissed  him  heartily.  "  But  I  do  know  you  are  a  good 
boy,  and  for  just  this  once,  I  suppose,  you  must  have 
your  way." 

But  she  had  a  good  crying  fit  after  she  left  him.  She 
did  come  down  to  tea,  but  she  said  little.  She  left  them 
all  at  their  evening  occupations  very  early,  and  said 
she  had  something  to  do  up-stairs.  This  was  a  thing 
which  had  never  happened  before ;  nor  did  it  ever  hap 
pen  again.  For  years,  with  bated  breath,  it  was  spoken 
of  as  "the  night  mamma  went  up-stairs." 


180  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

But  indeed  it  marked  an  epoch.  The  next  morning, 
when  they  met  for  breakfast,  Romayne  had  gone  down 
town.  He  had  "gone  into  business,"  whatever  that 
meant.  He  had  made  the  fire ;  the  teakettle  boiled— 
if  the  proofreader  will  let  us  say  so — but  he  was  not 
there.  They  breakfasted  without  Romayne. 


II 

For  after  the  boy  had  milked  the  cow  himself,  as  he 
always  did,  and  had  made  his  breakfast  of  a  quart,  more 
or  less,  of  milk  and  a  dozen  biscuit,  more  or  less,  he  had 
left  a  line  with  his  mother,  to  say  that  she  might  not 
see  him  till  evening.  Nor  did  she.  Every  evening,  at 
a  late  supper,  he  turned  up,  always  with  some  amusing 
tales  of  the  day's  experience  in  this  difficult  matter 
of  "  finding  a  place."  His  sisters  and  Fritz  observed, 
among  themselves,  that  these  stories  were  rather  vague, 
and  did  not  hang  very  closely  together.  But  Mrs.  Mon 
tague  was  somewhat  preoccupied.  So,  if  the  boy  must 
"go  into  business,"  he  must;  what  "business"  was, she 
scarcely  knew ;  but  she  did  know  that  he  might  be 
trusted  to  do  nothing  dishonorable,  and  that  when  any 
thing  permanent  came  to  his  hand  she  would  know  as 
soon  as  any  one.  If  he  were  not  to  answer  the  wish 
and  prayer  of  her  heart  by  going  to  college,  it  was  of 
little  account  to  her  whether  he  went  to  work  with  Mr. 
Black  or  Mr.  White,  Mr.  Green  or  Mr.  Brown,  or  wheth 
er  he  sold  stocks  or  sugar,  coffee  or  coal.  She  knew 
that  some  of  her  nicest  friends  were  "in  business,"  and 
that  some  of  the  nicest  of  them  had  a  good  deal  of 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  181 

money.  If  this  should  happen  to  Romayne,  why,  there 
would  be  some  compensation  for  her  distress  that  he 
would  not  go  to  the  university. 

Accordingly  her  distress  was  all  the  more  agonizing, 
and  the  first  blow  the  boy  had  given  her  was  repeated 
in  one  twice  as  hard,  when,  at  the  end  of  the  month, 
he  told  her  that  for  all  those  thirty-one  days,  Sundays  ex- 
cepted,  he  had  been  at  work  with  Mr.  Galen,  the  plumber. 

That  his  father's  son  should  be  a  plumber!  She 
thought  her  heart  would  break ;  she  was  sure  it  would. 

But  when  people  think  their  hearts  will  break  they 
do  not.  The  very  fact  that  they  can  stop  to  think 
about  it  shows  that  the  shock  is  not  fatal.  And  Mrs. 
Montague  did  survive  this  disgrace,  as  she  called  it,  to 
her  family  for  many  years.  Oddly  enough,  as  will  hap 
pen  to  people  of  her  build,  she  came  to  persuade  herself 
that  she  had  seen  the  advantages  of  the  plumber's  busi 
ness,  and  had  been  the  person  to  suggest  it  to  Romayne. 
She  sometimes  even  wondered  if  it  would  not  have  been 
better  if  Fritz  had  gone  to  the  Galens'  with  his  brother 
—Fritz,  who,  after  some  years,  was  a  leading  professor 
in  the  University  of  New  Padua.  The  introductory 
section  of  this  story  was  needed  only  that  the  reader 
might  understand  better  the  relations  in  which  Ro 
mayne  lived  with  the  people  of  the  little  city  which 
was  their  home,  and  so  might  follow  intelligently  the 
details  of  this  little  story. 

The  boy  had  that  heavenly  gift  with  tools  with  which 
some  people  are  born,  and  some,  alas!  are  not — like  this 
author,  and  possibly  this  reader.  It  is  a  gift  as  distinct 
as  that  for  music  or  for  painting.  From  the  first  mo 
ment  when  he  offered  himself  on  trial  to  old  Galen,  old 


182  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

Galen  loved  him,  he  held  the  pipe  in  such  a  loving  way, 
and  used  the  solder  so  that  hardly  a  drop  fell  upon  the 
tiles.  Both  the  younger  Galens  took  to  him  also.  He 
was  not  afraid  of  work ;  he  was  not  in  the  least  above 
his  business.  If  the  work  were  dirty,  why,  it  was  dirty, 
that  was  all ;  there  was  water  enough  and  soap  enough 
when  he  chose  to  be  clean.  So  was  it  that  when  he 
had  passed  that  first  month  of  experiment  which  old 
Galen  had  insisted  on,  he  knew  more  of  the  business 
than  nine  boys  out  of  ten  would  have  known  in  three 
months,  and  old  Galen  then  gladly  made  with  him  the 
permanent  agreement  the  announcement  of  which  had 
so  distressed  his  mother. 

Then  in  the  evening  he  was  forever  reading — hy 
draulics,  hydrostatics,  any  book  on  physics  in  the  pub 
lic  library,  he  devoured  them  all.  If  he  understood 
them,  well.  If  he  did  not  understand  them,  he  knew 
that  he  did  not,  and  highly  resolved  that  some  day  he 
should.  By  the  time  his  two  years  with  the  Galens 
were  up  he  knew  as  much  of  their  business  as  they  did, 
and  of  its  principles  and  theory  he  knew  a  great  deal 
more;  and  he  had  money  enough  of  his  own  in  the 
savings-bank  to  be  able  to  go  to  New  Haven,  and  for 
six  months  to  take  such  a  course  as  he  had  blocked  out 
for  himself  in  the  Sheffield  School. 

Meanwhile,  every  housekeeper  understands  how  it 
was  that  Mrs.  Montague  became  reconciled  to  his  ca 
reer.  Actually  in  the  house  with  her  was  some  one 
who  understood  the  unintelligible— nay,  who  could  do 
the  impossible.  This  mysterious  cobweb  of  pipes  be 
neath  her  feet,  which  modern  civilization  hides  so  care 
fully,  because  it  is  all-important  that  it  should  be  visi- 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  183' 

ble — her  own  son  knew  about  it  all.  As  some  sainted 
"  beloved  hearer,"  sitting  Sunday  after  Sunday  in  her 
pew,  admires  the  esoteric  wisdom  of  the  dear  "  rector," 
who  understands  all  about  foreknowledge,  and  evolu 
tion,  and  Gnosticism,  and  sanctification,  arid  Tract  No. 
90,  and  the  fall  of  man,  and  the  Isidorian  Decretals,  of 
which  she  knows  nothing  —  nay,  is  in  that  second  or 
third  power  of  ignorance  that  she  knows  that  she 
knows  nothing  —  so  Mrs.  Montague  admired  as  she 
loved  this  more  than  prophet,  who  knew  where  the 
traps  were,  and  why  they  were  there ;  who  never  mis 
took  an  outlet  pipe  for  an  inlet  pipe,  and  to  whom  a 
self-acting  valve  was  as  little  mysterious  as  a  waffle- 
iron  was  to  her.  More  than  this,  the  prophet  could  do 
the  thing  he  said  should  be  done.  More  than  this,  ;he 
was  her  own  dear,  handsome  boy,  who  was  so  sweet 
and  cunning  when  he  was  a  baby.  Most  of  all  —  for 
there  was  a  climax — he  sent  in  no  bill  at  the  end  of  the 
quarter.  All  housekeepers  will  now  understand  why 
Fritz's  college  charges  were  paid  so  easily ;  all  sanita 
rians  will  understand  why  the  doctor's  visits  became  so 
few.  And  when  Romayne  returned  from  New  Haven, 
when  he  went  into  partnership  with  young  Mol.  Galen, 
and  they  took  the  old  stand,  with  the  new  title  of 
"  Sanitary  Engineer,"  one  understood  how  Mrs.  Mon 
tague  delighted  in  the  new  rugs  Romayne  gave  her  for 
a  birthday  present,  and  how  she  enjoyed  the  bays  and 
the  landau  in  which  he  insisted  she  should  ride  on  Sat 
urday  and  go  to  church  on  Sunday. 

Romayne  had  been  a  favorite  in  the  town  since  those 
days  when  he  was  such  a  cunning  baby.    As  why  should 


184  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

he  not  be,  indeed  ?  People  do  not  give  their  plumbing 
orders  to  a  young  man  because  he  was  a  pretty  baby  ; 
but  when  they  have  always  known  him  and  always 
liked  him,  and  now  he  understands  his  business,  they 
are  glad  they  can  give  him  their  plumbing  orders.  The 
town  was  growing  like  fury  in  wealth  and  population 
—  growing  faster  than  any  town  in  the  State  —  as  every 
American  town  always  is  that  one  ever  hears  of.  Busi 
ness  came  to  the  sanitary  engineers  on  the  right  hand 
and  on  the  left.  The  State  insane  asylum  was  estab 
lished  in  Verona,  and  Montague  &  Galen's  bid  was  a 
mile  below  anybody  else's  bid.  And  when  the  work 
was  done,  Dr.  Berzelius  spoke  of  it  in  the  Convention 
of  Alienists  at  Saratoga  as  a  miracle  of  intelligent  en 
gineering.  Simplicity  and  strength  are  as  possible  in 
plumbing  as  in  a  pyramid  ;  and  Romayne  said  in  all 
quarters  that  they  proposed  to  finish  every  job  so  that 
they  might  never  see  it  again.  He  had  an  excellent 
staff  under  him.  His  own  success  attracted  young  fel 
lows  like  him  from  the  high-school,  who  saw  now  that 
the  profession  on  which  depends  the  purity  of  every  cup 
of  cold  water  which  one  Christian  gives  another  is  a  pro 
fession  quite  as  well  worth  following  as  any.  So  the 
firm  of  Montague  &  Galen  was  a  prosperous  firm,  extend 
ing  its  business  not  only  over  all  that  State,  but  over  all 
the  region  around  it. 


III 

And  while  every  one  with  whom  we  have  to  do 
was  virtuous,  they  still  had  cakes,  and  what  they  liked 
better  than  ale  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  plumbers  and  the 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  185 

plumbers'  boys  did  their  work  well  for  eight  hours 
a  day ;  they  slept  nine  hours  every  night,  and  this  left 
seven  hours  to  each  for  his  meals,  for  his  dressing  and 
undressing,  and  for  any  avocations  which  he  might  pur 
sue  outside  his  vocation.  Saturday  afternoon  nobody 
plumbed  at  all— no,  nor  soldered.  So  there  was  plenty 
of  opportunity  for  "  a  little  conversation."  "  What  is 
it  all  for,"  says  Mr.  Emerson,  "  but  a  little  conversa 
tion?"  And  on  very  much  the  same  lines  of  time,  Ro- 
mayne's  sisters  studied  their  French  verbs,  practised 
their  music,  kneaded  the  bread  on  Wednesday,  and  at 
tended  to  their  other  duties,  while  they  also  found  sev 
eral  hours  a  day  for  "  a  little  conversation."  And  the 
young  people  of  New  Padua  also  had  discovered  many 
agreeable  methods  for  using  the  conversation  hours. 

o  o 

Indeed,  it  was  as  pleasant  a  place  as  I  have  ever  known. 
There  were  horseback  parties  and  picnic  parties,  pond- 
lily  parties  and  bathing  parties ;  there  was  a  Chau- 
tauqua  Circle  and  an  Exclamation  Society  and  a  Frank 
Stockton  Club.  They  had  everything  except  hornets' 
nests  to  make  them  comfortable,  and  they  enjoyed  life, 
or,  as  the  vernacular  says,  they  "  had  a  good  time,"  as 
young  people  know  how.  Years  went  on,  and  the 
business  of  the  firm  extended  with  every  year  —  you 
might  almost  say  that  it  extended  itself.  That  early 
phrase  of  Romayne's,  "  We  never  want  to  see  a  job  a 
second  time,"  went  far  and  wide,  and  eventually  the 
firm  took  it  as  a  sort  of  trade-mark.  It  made  the  head 
ing  of  their  note-paper,  so  that  they  had  not  to  seek 
for  business  in  general.  It  was  only  on  a  great  occa 
sion,  like  that  of  the  completion  of  the  hospital,  that 
they  appeared  as  competitors  for  a  contract.  Indeed, 


186  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

after  their  reputation  was  established,  builders  and  con 
tractors  came  to  seek  them. 

Nobody  enjoyed  this  popularity  more  than  Mrs. 
Montague.  Indeed,  as  has  been  said,  she  came  to 
think  that  it  was  largely  of  her  own  making.  She 
early  persuaded  herself  that  it  was  she  who  had 
sent  Romayne  to  Mr.  Galen,  and  had  conceived  the 
idea  of  training  him  as  a  sanitary  engineer.  And  now, 
as  her  household  cares  diminished  under  Romayne's 
almost  lavish  provision  for  her  comfort,  she  felt  it  her 
duty  to  give  her  leisure  time  to  enlarging  the  business 
of  the  firm.  Romayne  would  have  gone  wild  had  he 
known  that  such  touting  and  solicitation  were  going 
on  in  his  interest  as  his  mother  carried  forward  all  the 
time.  Bat,  in  truth,  it  came  to  be  considered  a  sort  of 
joke  among  the  people  of  the  county.  Mr.  Whitbread 
could  not  stake  out  the  corners  of  a  new  wing  to  the 
bakery  but  Mrs.  Montague's  bays  would  be  seen  at 
Mrs.  Whitbread's  door.  Mrs.  Montague  would  make 
a  state  call  on  that  lady,  and  before  she  had  gone 
would  say  she  hoped  Mr.  Whitbread  would  not  forget 
old  friends  in  contracting  for  the  water- works.  All 
this  eagerness  of  hers  was  bred  by  a  passionate  love 
of  Romayne;  from  her  conscientious  determination, 
formed  on  that  first  night  when  he  "  went  into  busi 
ness"  and  she  went  up-stairs,  that,  in  every  way  in 
which  a  mother  could,  she  would  go  into  business  too, 
and  would  loyally  support  him. 

To  her  point  of  view  all  public  institutions  were  ac 
counted  as  the  best  conceivable,  or  of  the  lowest  degra 
dation,  according  as  they  did  or  did  not  use  the  traps 
and  faucets  in  which  our  firm  was  interested.  She 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  187 

made  herself  a  life  member  of  the  Indian  Association 
because  when  she  called  at  the  office  in  Philadelphia 
she  saw  that  Mr.  Welsh  had  the  right  faucets  and 
water  bowls  ;  and  she  threw  her  whole  influence  against 
the  State  administration  because  in  the  Capitol  at  Ilar- 
risburg  she  saw  that  theirs  were  all  wrong. 

Romayne  had  to  caution  her  once  and  again,  as  far 
as  a  son  can  caution  a  mother  whom  he  loves.  For 
the  rest,  when  some  ill-natured  person  brought  him  a 
bit  of  gossip  about  one  or  another  success  of  hers  as  a 
drummer,  he  had  to  make  as  light  of  it  as  he  could,  to 
persuade  himself  that  the  story  was  an  exaggeration, 
and  to  trust  that  such  things  did  not  happen  often. 


IV 

It  was  necessary  to  explain  Mrs.  Montague's  methods 
and  her  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  sanitary  reform,  that 
the  reader  may  understand  a  breach  which  she  brought 
about,  wholly  unintentionally,  in  the  social  life  of  our 
little  community.  We  have  always  been  on  good  terms 
with  the  people  in  what  we  call  the  other  village,  al 
though,  in  a  way,  we  pity  them.  Their  population  is 
not  so  large  as  ours  by  five  or  six  hundred ;  indeed, 
had  our  census  been  as  well  taken  as  theirs  there  would 
have  been  more  difference.  But  they  are  always  fussy 
about  such  things,  and  took  more  pains  with  theirs 
than  we  did  with  ours.  They  have  their  own  post- 
office,  which  is  foolish  in  them,  and  they  are  apt  to 
drive  to  the  O.  and  C.  depot  instead  of  coming  over  to 
our  station,  which  is  all  a  piece  of  their  independent 


188  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

nonsense,  for  which  we  do  not  care  a  straw.  But  they 
are  good  people  all  the  same,  though  none  of  them 
come  to  our  churches ;  and  when  they  have  to  come  to 
our  stores,  as  they  do,  we  are  always  glad  to  see  them. 
Some  of  our  ladies  exchange  calls  with  some  of  their 
ladies.  Well,  there  was  a  Mrs.  Hood  over  there,  a  lady 
indeed,  and  she  had  established  a  seminary  for  girls. 
It  was  a  good  plan,  we  all  thought,  for  she  had  been 
left  at  her  husband's  death  with  several  young  daugh 
ters  of  her  own,  and  we  thought  they  could  help  in 
the  school,  and  would  count  more  in  the  catalogue. 
Mrs.  Hood  made  a  very  good  school  of  it ;  she  adver 
tised  it  in  our  county  paper,  which  was  a  good  move 
of  hers,  and  it  became  very  popular.  The  other  village 
— they  call  it  New  Padua,  though  it  should  really  be 
only  another  ward  of  our  city — is  but  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  us.  So  that  from  the  Montague  house,  which 
stands  quite  high,  you  could  see  perfectly  easily  when 
Mrs.  Hood  built  a  brick  L  to  her  husband's  old  house, 
and,  indeed,  the  Argus  announced  that  this  new  build 
ing  was  necessary  as  a  dormitory  for  the  seminary. 
Then  was  it  that  Mrs.  Montague  reflected,  for  the  first 
time,  that  Mrs.  Hood  was  a  stranger  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  that  she  was  a  Presbyterian  like  herself,  and  that 
everything  made  it  proper  that  she  should  go  and  call 
on  her,  and  pa}^  her  the  civilities  which  one  of  the  old 
families  ought  to  be  ready  to  offer.  Mrs.  Hood's  chil 
dren,  it  is  true,  had  all  been  born  in  New  Padua,  and 
it  had  never  occurred  to  Mrs.  Montague  before  that 

4*  O 

she  owed  these  courtesies.  But  she  had  not  had  this 
carriage  long,  and  she  had  more  time  now  than  she 
once  had. 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  189 

So  she  made  her  visit,  and  was  very  pleasantly  re 
ceived.  Mrs.  Hood  is  a  charming  person,  and  she  sent 
for  that  pretty  girl  Rosaline  French,  one  of  the  schol 
ars,  when  she  proved  to  be  a  second  -  cousin  of  the 
Montagues.  There  was  some  sponge-cake,  and  some 
phosa,  which  was  then  a  new  brew,  to  which  Mrs. 
Montague  was  not  accustomed.  So  the  visit  went  off 
very  nicely,  and  Mrs.  Hood  had  said  she  should  be  glad 
to  be  the  collecting  agent  for  the  Indian  Association  in 
New  Padua,  and  Mrs.  Montague  rose  to  go.  It  was 
then  that  Mrs.  Hood  said  that  Michael  had  better  drive 
out  by  the  back  way,  because  the  front  avenue  was  so 
lumbered  up  with  timber  for  the  new  wing ;  and  then 
that  Mrs.  Montague,  availing  herself  of  the  chance,  said, 
so  graciously : 

"When  you  come  to  the  finishing,  and  put  in  your 
bath-tubs  and  your  pipes,  you  must  come  and  make  my 
boy  a  visit.  Here  is  his  card.  Perhaps  you  do  not 
know  that  Montague  &  Galen  are  all  my  boys.  I  call 
the  Galens  so,  for  they  are  very  nice  fellows.  And 
really,  Mrs.  Hood,  when  health  is  at  stake  one  cannot 
be  too  careful." 

To  which  last  remark  Mrs.  Hood  assented  very  cord 
ially,  and  indeed  a  little  at  length,  as  a  school-mistress 
should. 

"  And  then,"  said  Mrs.  Montague,  when  she  described 
the  interview  to  Fritz,  "  she  had  the  impudence  to  say 
that  she  should  take  great  care  of  the  plumbing ;  that 
she  had  consulted  Professor  Thingamy  about  it,  and 
had  made  her  contract  already.  Impudent  minx !  I 
could  have  struck  her." 

It  was  this  interview,  more  important  in  village  pol- 


190  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

itics  than  can  be  imagined,  which  made  a  certain  divi 
sion  in  the  social  relations  which  I  have  described  as 
so  harmonious  before.  Fritz  thought  best  not  to  tell 
his  brother  of  it  at  the  time,  but  Komayne  found  it 
out  soon  enough,  for  all  that.  As  it  happened,  in 
deed,  I  think  Romayne  knew  quite  as  much  about 
the  Hood  affair  as  Mrs.  Montague  did.  For  though 
he  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Hood,  he  had  seen  her  oldest 
daughter,  and  had  liked  her  very  much.  There  was 
a  party  at  the  Hoods',  and  in  a  frolic  somebody  had 
proposed  blindman's- buff,  and  Romayne  had  been 
blinded  and  had  caught  Miss  Hood.  For  him  that 
was  the  beginning.  He  guessed  her — well,  I  do  not 
know  how,  for  he  had  really  never  seen  her  to  know 
her  before.  Afterwards  there  happened  one  of  those 
queer  accidents  which  bring  people  together.  He 
bought  the  resin  for  the  firm,  and  such  paints  and 
whiting  and  chemicals  as  they  used  a  good  deal  of,  at 
an  old-established  drug-store.  It  had  grown  up  to  be 
a  large  wholesale  business  from  being  the  little  variety 
store  of  the  village.  A  queer  place  it  was.  It  had  the 
little  six-by-eight  panes  to  the  windows  which  it  had  in 
Mad  Anthony's  time,  when  Utrecht  was  laid  out — long 
before  the  name  was  changed.  When  you  went  in,  it 
was  a  perfect  curiosity  shop.  There  was  a  tortoise- 
shell  which  Hugh  had  brought  up  from  the  pond  when 
he  was  a  boy  ;  there  was  an  alligator  which  he  had  shot 
in  the  St.  John's  River  years  afterwards ;  and  scattered 
along  on  the  shelves  the  dusty  relics  of  two  generations 
of  village  shopkeeping— boxes,  flower-pots,  jugs— all 
without  a  label  or  a  mark,  but  remembered,  I  suppose, 
somewhere  in  old  Roger's  brain.  A  shop  without  a 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  191 

sign,  which  never  advertised,  and  yet  which  did  half 
the  business  of  the  manufacturers  of  the  count}7  in 
chemicals  and  other  drugs. 

At  the  door  of  this  museum  Romayne  drew  up  one 
day,  held  the  reins  in  his  hand  as  he  pushed  the  door 
open,  and  cried,  "  Mr.  Roger,  you  may  as  well  wire  for 
half  a  ton  of  copperas ;  we  haven't  as  much  as  I  thought." 
And  he  had  just  taken  his  seat  again  in  his  wagon, 
when  a  lady  called  to  him  from  the  steps,  and  to  his 
surprise  he  saw  his  pretty  friend  Miss  Hood. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  "  but  Mr.  Roger  isn't 
in.  I  was  waiting  for  him.  But  I  will  leave  your 
order  with  him  if  you  like.  He  cannot  be  gone  far, 
for  I  found  the  door  unlocked,  as  you  did." 

ISTo,  Romayne  would  not  think  of  troubling  her  with 
the  order.  Indeed,  he  remembered  that  he  must  see  Mr. 
Roger  about  some  resin.  He  left  the  horses,  and  for 
twenty  minutes  had  a  nice  talk  with  her  in  the  snuffy 
old  shop.  It  wTas  astonishing  how  well  they  knew 
each  other  when  Roger  came  in  from  the  post-office, 
where  fortunately  the  mail  had  been  late.  And  this 
Avas  only  their  second  time  of  meeting ! 

The  second  time,  but  not  the  last.  Fortune  favors 
the  brave  and  the  young.  Romayne  was  hand  in  glove 
with  our  new  Presbyterian  minister.  He  was  a  very 
good  fellow,  who  had  come  to  us  about  the  time  when 
the  new  firm  was  established.  He  liked  Romayne,  and 
Romayne  had  frozen  to  him  at  once.  He  was  in  and 
out  at  Lawrence's  every  other  day,  to  talk  about  the 
Christian  Endeavor  Society  and  the  Sunday-school  and 
the  Board  of  Charities,  and  he  was  very  fond  of  Mrs. 
Lawrence,  who  often  made  him  stay  to  lunch.  At 


192  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

lunch  one  day  whom  should  he  meet  but  Miss  Hood. 
It  proved  that  Mrs.  Lawrence  had  been  a  scholar  at  the 
seminary,  and  knew  her.  Afterwards  he  met  her  there 
again,  and  one  day  he  walked  home  with  her.  I  do 
not  say  that  Lawrence  tried  to  make  a  match  between 
them,  or  that  his  wife  did.  Let  us  hope  they  had  other 
business  in  hand,  and  left  such  matters  to  take  care 
of  themselves,  which  is  generally  safe.  But  I  do 
know  that,  without  any  arrangement  on  anybody's 
part,  Romayne  was  a  little  apt  to  find  out  the  days 
when  Miss  Hood  made  Mrs.  Lawrence  a  visit.  And  if 
he  had  then  known  that  his  mother  had  been  over  to 
see  her  mother,  and  to  ask  for  a  job  for  him,  his  wrath 
would  have  been  awful. 

He  was  destined  to  find  it  out,  however,  by  slow  de 
grees.  "When  his  mother  gave  a  great  party  to  the  Sul- 
lys,  who  came  up  to  Yerona  when  their  son  was  married, 
she  invited  half  the  county  and  nine-tenths  of  the  New 
Padua  people,  but  sent  no  cards  to  the  Hoods.  It  was  a 
regular  out-of-door  fete,  where  there  was,  as  Red  Jacket 
would  say,  all  the  room  there  was ;  and  really,  to  ask 
the  Higginses  and  not  ask  the  Hoods  was  a  very  marked 
thing.  But  Mrs.  Hood  was  even  with  her,  and  when, 
in  June,  Dr.  Witherspoon  came  to  make  the  annual  ad 
dress  at  the  exhibition,  and  the  seminary  sent  out  an 
elegant  invitation  card  engraved  in  Philadelphia,  there 
was  one  of  these  cards  exhibited  in  every  parlor  in 
Verona  except  at  Mrs.  Montague's.  And  yet,  I  sup 
pose  that  there  was  not  a  man  in  the  place  who 
wanted  so  much  to  be  invited  in  a  regular  way  to  the 
exhibition  as  poor  Romayne  Montague.  But  young 
people  cannot  always  have  what  they  want,  and  so  he 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  193 

had  to  sit  in  the  gallery  as  the  exhibition  went  on,  just 
as  all  the  uninvited  towns-people  did.  And  he  could 
not  show  his  face  at  the  reception,  as  every  other  young 
man  did,  whether  he  hailed  from  Yerona  or  New 
Padua. 


But  Eomayne  was  not  the  man  to  be  turned  from  a 
plan  by  one  bit  of  pasteboard  more  or  less — no,  not 
though  the  pasteboard  bore  upon  it  an  engraving  from 
Philadelphia.  He  had  found  out  that  he  liked  Miss 
Hood  better  than  he  liked  any  other  girl  that  he  ever 
saw ;  and  he  did  not  care  if  her  mother  was  such  a 
fool  as  to  leave  plumbers  out  from  her  parties.  As  to 
his  mother,  he  had  asked  no  questions  when  she  had 
omitted  the  Hoods  and  the  seminary  girls  from  her 
list.  He  had  thought  it  a  pity  that  twenty  or  more 
of  the  young  people  whom  every  fellow  wanted  to  see 
should  not  be  at  his  mother's  party.  But  he  had  long 
since  learned  that  her  ways  were  past  his  finding  out. 
He  would  have  been  glad  if  he  could  have  had  a  card 
to  Mrs.  Hood's.  But  if  he  could  not — why,  he  could 
not.  And  he  would  find  out  whether  her  daughter  had 
any  objection.  He  followed  up  such  chances  as  Mrs. 
Lawrence's  cordiality  gave  him.  He  knew  he  could 
make  other  chances.  And  it  was  not  long,  indeed,  be 
fore  he  had  an  opportunity. 

Oddly  enough,  it  was  all  about  copperas  again.  The 
half -ton  had  all  gone  in  some  purification  that  was 
needed  at  the  town-house,  and,  with  a  pleasant  mem 
ory  of  the  day  he  ordered  it,  JRomayne  drove  round 


194 

again  to  Roger's.  The  old  fellow  came  out  on  the 
steps  as  the  bays  stopped  in  their  quick  career.  He 
was  still  holding  in  his  hand  a  great  bunch  of  lavender, 
he  had  brought  in  from  the  garden.  Under  his  heavy, 
beetling  brow  there  was  a  good  -  natured  smile,  for 
Romayne  was  one  of  his  favorites ;  and  would  have 
been  one  had  he  not  been  so  good  a  customer.  He 
told  him  to  come  in,  that  he  had  a  new  line  of  goods  to 
show  him,  and  Romayne  readily  assented.  To  his  sur 
prise,  he  found  Miss  Hood  there  again,  and,  for  the  first 
time,  he  united  her  and  Roger  in  his  thought,  supposing 
now  that  there  was  some  relationship  of  which  he  had 
never  heard.  The  old  fellow  must  be  her  granduncle. 
What  was  the  new  "line  of  goods"  I  never  heard. 
I  know  that  Romayne  never  knew.  What  with  the 
lavender,  and  some  thyme  and  sweet-marjoram  which 
old  Roger  went  and  brought,  and  a  botanical  discussion 
about  the  Didynamia  and  Labiatce,  and  the  microscope 
which  was  produced,  and  the  length  of  some  doubtful 
stamens,  half  an  hour  went  by,  and  the  new  line  of 
goods  was  never  produced.  Then  Miss  Hood  rose  and 
said  she  must  go.  To  Roger  she  said,  "  To-morrow 
morning,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Roger."  And  Montague 
was  watchful  enough  to  observe  that  she  did  not  say 
"Uncle  George "  or  " Cousin  George."  Then,  as  she 
went  to  the  door,  and  he  with  her,  it  was  impossible 
that  they  should  not  see  the  high  black  cloud  in  the 
west.  It  was  impossible  that  he  should  not  protest 
against  her  walking  home.  He  did  protest ;  he  begged 
her  to  let  him  take  her  home  under  the  protection  of 
his  buggy,  and  she  very  prettily  and  very  pleasantly 
acceded. 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  195 

I  do  not  know  whether  she  had  any  idea  of  what  was 
going  to  happen.  I  do  know  he  did.  He  did  not  care 
a  cent  for  the  shower  after  she  was  fairly  in  the  car 
riage  with  a  rug  and  the  boot  over  her  knees.  And  he 
drove  very  slowly. 

Then  he  said,  squarely  :  "  I  was  mortified  and  sorry 
that  my  mother  and  I  were  not  asked  to  your  mother's 
party,  Miss  Hood.  Plumbers  have  dirty  hands  while 
they  are  at  work,  but  they  are  very  necessary  people 
in  modern  civilization." 

The  girl  was  astonished,  as  well  she  might  be;  but 
she  was  quick  and  well-bred,  and  she  rallied  in  time  to 
say  that  he  must  not  hold  her  responsible  for  her  moth 
er's  visiting-list.  He  observed  with  interest  and  with  a 
certain  pleasure  that  she  made  no  pretence  of  mistake 
or  omission. 

"I  do  not  care  much  for  your  mother's  visiting-list," 
said  he,  in  reply.  And  then  he  added :  "  I  leave  my 
mother's  severely  alone.  But  I  care  a  great  deal  about 
yours,  Miss  Hood.  You  are  good  enough  to  let  me  take 
you  home  now.  I  wish  I  might  have  the  honor  and 
pleasure  of  calling  to-morrow,  as  the  old-fashioned  peo 
ple  did,  to  be  sure  that  you  have  taken  no  cold." 

She  was  again  surprised.  But,  as  before,  she  was 
self-possessed  when  she  answered,  and  her  answer  was 
a  difficult  one.  For  she  knew  that,  after  what  had 
passed  between  their  mothers,  Mrs.  Hood  would  not 
let  him  come  into  the  house.  She  did  what  was  wise, 
therefore.  She  answered  one  part  of  the  question,  and 
let  the  other  go. 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Montague,  I  rate  your  profession  very 
highly.  I  have  cause  to— have  I  not  ? — from  the  mo- 


196 

ment  I  take  my  bath  in  the  morning  till  I  turn  off  the 
cold  water  when  the  girls  go  to  bed.  You  do  not  know 
that  I  have  the  gymnastics  in  charge.  And  with  sixty 
girls  there  is  a  deal  of  hot  and  cold  water.  It  was 
Eve's  cosmetic,  you  know." 

But  he  would  not  laugh;  he  would  have  an  answer 
to  his  question,  and  he  said  so.  And  she,  poor  child, 
had  to  face  the  music,  as  our  national  proverb  says. 

"  Mr.  Montague,  my  mother  and  your  mother  do  not 
understand  each  other,  so  that  I  cannot  ask  you  to  the 
house.  It  is  not  my  house.  But—  And  she  paused, 
for  she  ought  not  to  have  said  "  but." 

He  waited  thirty  seconds,  and  the  bays  walked  slow- 

iy- 

"But?"  said  he  then,  with  a  tone  of  inquiry. 

And  now  there  was  a  pause  of  a  minute. 

"But?"  he  said  again,  as  before. 

"  You  ought  not  to  make  me  say,  Mr.  Montague," 
said  she.  "  But  we  are  not  fools,  either  of  us.  I  have 
a  great  respect  for  plumbers ;  I  have  said  that.  I  will 
add  that  I  am  always  glad  to  see  the  head  of  the  pro 
fession  in  this  county,  though  I  must  not  invite  him  to 
my  mother's  house.  I  am  glad  to  see  him  at  the  Chau- 
tauqua,  at  Mr.  Roger's,  at  Mrs.  Lawrence's.  I  am  glad 
to  accept  his  invitation  to  ride  in  his  buggy  when  it 
rains,  although  I  observe  that  he  does  not  ask  me  to 
his  mother's  house." 

This  was  bravely  said  and  well  said.  And  from  that 
moment  all  things  went  well  with  Komayne  and  Miss 
Hood.  She  had  not  permitted  any  nonsense  of  the 
novels  to  stand  between  her  and  one  of  the  most  intel 
ligent  young  men  of  the  region.  She  had  not  been  un- 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  197 

womanly ;  she  had  not  made  any  advances.  But,  as 
she  said  herself  when  the  conversation  began,  she  had 
not  acted  like  a  fool,  or  as  the  average  novel  of  the 
first  half  of  the  century  would  have  required  her  to 
act. 

It  may  be  observed  here  that  one  difficulty  which  the 
American  novelist  has  in  creating  a  plot  for  his  country 
which  would  pass  muster  in  Europe  is,  that  the  greater 
part  of  his  country  men  and  women  do  not  act  like 
sheer  fools  in  delicate  or  difficult  circumstances.  Now 
half  the  received  plots  require  action  of  this  sort,  or 
there  is  no  story.  This  observation,  thrown  out  by  a 
friend  of  the  court,  is  commended  to  the  critics. 

So,  as  I  said,  the  affairs  of  these  two  people  sped  well, 
notwithstanding  the  objections  of  the  two  mothers.  If 
they  did  not  meet  at  his  home  or  at  hers,  there  were  a 
plenty  of  places  where  they  did  meet.  They  met  at  the 
Chautauqua  Circle  and  at  the  Exclamation  Club.  When 
the  young  people  made  a  horseback  party,  and  the 
Hood  girls  joined,  it  seemed  natural  that  Eomayne,  on 
the  Iowa  gray,  should  take  care  of  Miss  Hood  on  that 
pretty  pacer  she  had  bought  from  Miss  Yernon.  When 
Eomayne  spoke  at  the  town  meeting  which  Mr.  Gar- 
field  had  set  agoing,  the  Hood  girls  were  there ;  and 
when  Mol.  Galen  walked  home  with  Bianca  and  Tom 
with  Portia,  who  were  both  grown-up  young  ladies  now, 
it  was  quite  of  course  that  Eomayne  should  walk  home 
with  their  sister.  In  such  rides  and  walks  and  talks 
they  found  out  everything  about  each  other.  She 
found  that  he  was  generous,  impetuous,  and  true.  He 
found  that  she  was  true,  impetuous,  and  generous. 
They  had  common  tastes,  which  came  out  in  their  bot- 


198  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

anizing,  in  her  water-colors  and  his  scientific  draughts 
manship,  in  his  study  of  physics  and  hers  of  the  higher 
mathematics,  where  she  had  the  school  professors  to 
help  her.  They  read  the  same  books ;  she  knew  the  last 
half  of  stanzas  of  which  he  could  quote  only  the  first. 
They  had  the  same  memories  of  Kollo,  and  had  won 
dered  together  about  the  lady  and  the  tiger.  Severest 
test  of  all,  and  most  charming,  she  was  perfect  in  her 
Miss  Austen,  and  in  any  competitive  examination  would 
have  done  as  well  as  Romayne  if  questioned  about  Mr. 
Knightley,  John  Knigbtley,  Isabella,  and  Mr.  Elton. 
With  these  like  regards  for  little  things,  who  shall  won 
der  if  they  agreed  on  the  greatest  thing  of  all  ?  One 
happy  day,  as  they  returned  together  from  an  excur 
sion  of  the  Mountain  Club,  in  which,  ir  deed,  they  had 
early  been  lost,  so  that  they  heard  little  of  the  stratifi 
cation,  and  nothing  of  the  erosion — when,  as  they  re 
turned,  he  asked  her  the  central  question,  whether  she 
would  receive  him  in  her  house  if  she  had  one,  or  would 
come  and  live  in  his  if  he  had  one,  then,  without  a 
"but,"  she  said  she  would,  as  frankly  as  he  had  asked 
her.  And  it  was  not  long  before  she  said  to  him  that 
from  that  first  day  at  Roger's  she  had  seen  how  differ 
ent  he  was  from  other  men.  "From  the  blindfold 
day?  Did  it  begin  with  the  blindfold  day?"  It  did 
with  him;  he  was  sure  of  that.  She  would  not  say  it 
did  with  her,  but  there  was  a  charming  blush  when 
she  said  nothing.  And  what  "rr"  was  was  clear  to 
both  of  them. 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  199 


VI 

If  Eomayne  had  a  hard  task  when,  at  sixteen,  he  told 
his  mother  that  for  one  month  her  son  had  been  a 
plumber,  he  had  a  harder  task  when,  as  a  young  man 
of  position  in  the  town  and  respected  of  all  men,  he 
had  to  tell  her  that  he  was  engaged  to  be  married  to 
the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Hood,  of  the  "  Female  Seminary." 
She  did  not  stop  to  ask  whether  a  seminary  could  be 
male,  or  how  it  could  be  female ;  she  did  not  devote 
herself  to  any  such  side  issue.  She  cried,  with  scorn, 
"  One  of  those  Hood  girls !"  and  then  declared  that  she 
would  hear  no  explanation.  There  was  no  excuse  and 
could  be  none.  For  her,  she  should  leave  the  county, 
or  would  do  so  if  she  could  sell  the  house.  No,  she  did 
not  know  the  girls  apart ;  she  did  not  know  how  many 
of  them  there  were;  and  none  of  them  should  come 
into  her  house.  If,  on  these  terms,  Eomayne  chose  to 
marry  her,  he  might  marry,  that  was  all. 

Whether  Mrs.  Hood  expressed  herself  with  a  like 
severity  did  not  appear.  So  far  as  the  social  politics 
or  interests  of  our  village  went,  it  was  of  the  less  impor 
tance.  We  had  a  strong  party,  led  by  the  Lawrences 
and  by  old  Mr.  Roger,  who  thought  well  of  the  Hoods, 
and  who  repeated  Mrs.  Montague's  ejaculations  only 
with  amusement,  not  to  say  ridicule.  For  Eomayne 
himself,  he  did  not  seem  to  suffer  so  much  under  his 
mother's  displeasure  as  she  might  have  wished.  Per 
haps  he  remembered  that  other  outburst  of  displeasure, 
when  he  had  taken  Saturn  for  the  star  of  his  fortune, 
and  had  gone  into  the  mysteries  of  lead  and  solder. 


200  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHEKS 

He  told  his  lady-love  of  his  mother's  wrath,  in  terms 
as  much  modified  as  the  truth  would  permit,  as  they 
took  a  charming  drive  one  day  up  that  pretty  pass  of 
Winnococksen  River,  where  he  knew  they  would  meet 
nobody.  She  was  tender  and  sympathetic  and  wise. 
So  sympathetic  was  she,  and  so  sorry  that  she  should 
come  in  between  him  and  his  mother,  that  he  pressed 
her  a  little  to  know  precisely  what  did  pass  on  that 
fatal  first  interview,  when  the  peace  of  two  houses  was 
interrupted  and  the  course  of  true  love  ruffled.  He 
had  never  heard  the  story  from  his  mother — indeed, 
he  had  never  heard  it  at  all,  though  he  had  often 
heard  of  it.  To  his  surprise  the  dear  girl  seemed  con 
fused  by  his  request,  and  answered  it  but  lamely. 
Why,  indeed,  should  they  not  have  had  their  plumbing 
done  by  our  home  talent  ?  Why  should  they  send  to 
Philadelphia,  or  Lancaster,  or  wherever  they  did  send 
to?  lie  did  not  know  who  his  rival  was,  and  he  did 
not  care — or  he  said  to  himself  that  he  did  not  care. 
All  the  same,  he  was  surprised,  not  to  say  annoyed, 
that  Juliet,  who  was  so  frank  about  everything  else, 
should  not  answer  a  plain  question.  And  he  said  so 
to  her,  bluntly. 

Juliet  was  more  confused  than  before.  For  a  minute 
she  said  nothing.  But  after  a  minute  she  rallied.  She 
turned  in  the  carriage,  so  that  she  could  look  him  in 
the  face,  and  said :  "  Romayne,  you  do  not  want  me 
to  give  my  mother  away,  as  you  boys  say  in  your 
horrid  slang.  Really,  I  do  not  know  just  what  either 
of  our  mothers  said  to  the  other.  It  is  better  that  I 
should  not  know,  and  I  think  better  that  you  should 
not  know,  And  I  am  sure  you  and  I  have  much  more 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  201 

important  things  to  talk  of."  And  she  looked  so  pretty 
that  he  could  not  help  kissing  her.  How  could  he  be 
expected  to?  And  why  should  the  bays  be  in  such  a 
hurry  ?  They  would  not  often  be  in  a  shady  pass  as 
lovely  as  this.  The  bays  were  made  to  walk  more 
demurely  ;  Juliet  and  Romayne  made  their  peace  under 
the  shade  of  the  maples  and  in  the  echoing  of  the  bab 
ble  of  the  brook. 

But  when  Romayne  gathered  up  the  reins  again, 
and  let  the  eager  bays  resume  their  trot,  he  said,  with 
a  good-natured  laugh,  "All  the  same,  there  is  a 
mystery,  I  see,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  never  know  what 
it  is."  * 

"  Mystery  there  is,"  said  Juliet,  "  if  you  choose  to 
call  it  so.  But  if  you  command  it,  rash  boy — as  the 
people  in  the  Arabian  Nights  do  always,  though  for 
their  own  ruin — if  you  demand  it,  I  will  reveal  it  to 
you  that  night  when  your  dear  Father  Lawrence 
makes  us  one." 

'clf  that  night  ever  comes,"  said  Romayne,  impa 
tiently.  "  I  never  knew  days  pass  by  so  slowly." 

"  Do  not  say  that  of  to-day,  dear  boy.  I  am  sure 
the  sun  is  setting  only  too  soon." 


VII 

Of  course  Mrs.  Hood  had  to  let  Romayne  come  into 
her  house  now.  There  was  a  certain  stiffness  about 
her  welcome  at  first,  but  Bianca  and  Portia  and  the 
other  sisters  were  always  cordial,  and  Romayne  would 
not  be  made  a  stranger.  The  whole  establishment 


202  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

might  be  called  well-nigh  perfect  of  its  kind.  Romayne 
did  not  wonder,  after  he  had  seen  the  arrangements, 
that  the  school  was  so  popular.  The  school -girls 
seemed  to  come  and  go  as  if  they  were  at  home,  and 
surely  no  one  of  them  could  ever  have  had  a  home 
more  comfortable,  not  to  say  more  luxurious.  Every 
thing  was  on  that  scale  of  generous  living  which  the 
true  American  likes,  not  to  say  is  used  to ;  and  every 
thing  had  a  certain  elegance  which  the  true  American 
does  not  always  know  how  to  maintain.  It  was  not 
that  the  things  were  expensive,  though  some  of  them 
were.  It  was  not  that  they  were  pretty,  though  most 
of  them  were.  The  charm  of  the  place  was  that  who 
ever  was  the  lady  director — and  director  it  was  clear 
there  was — had  put  in  just  what  she  chose,  just  what 
she  liked.  She  had  not  thought  of  money  one  way  or 
the  other. 

"Wealth,  as  mere  wealth,  is  of  course  simply  vulgar," 
said  Mrs.  Hood  one  day,  putting  in  eight  words  what 
Romayne  felt  was  the  spirit  or  essence  of  her  vigorous 
use  of  money.  But,  all  the  same,  it  was  clear  that 
there  was  in  this  establishment  money  enough  to  use, 
and  this  was  another  mystery  to  him.  People  who 
had  a  million  in  the  new  four-per-cents  were  not  apt 
to  keep  boarding-schools.  And  people  who  lived  by 
keeping  boarding-schools  were  not  apt,  so  far  as  he 
knew,  to  have  a  dozen  good  horses  in  the  stables,  to 
have  Corots  and  D'Aubignes  on  the  walls,  to  have 
orchids  and  allemandias  from  their  own  greenhouses 
and  early  strawberries  from  their  own  hot-beds.  But 
as  to  the  origin  of  all  these  things,  Romayne  asked 
no  questions,  not  even  of  Juliet.  He  was  going  to 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  203 

take  her,  priceless  as  she  was,  for  her  own  dear  sake. 
He  asked  no  questions  about  dowries  or  settlements, 
and  nobody  asked  him  any.  He  gave  little  thought 
to  these  mysteries.  His  only  eagerness  was  to  have  a 
day  appointed  for  the  wedding,  and  then  to  drag  along 
the  hours  by  what  strength  he  could  till  that  day 
should  come.  He  had  bought  his  own  house  on  the 
Willow  Road,  just  as  you  drive  out  from  the  town  to 
the  Bromwich  turnpike.  Mrs.  Hood  and  Juliet  were 
making  visits  to  Philadelphia  to  select  the  furniture. 
When  he  could  go  with  them,  all  went  well.  When 
they  would  not  let  him  go,  or  when  he  had  to  go  off  to 
see  the  work  at  Me G raw  College  or  at  Titus ville,  all 
was  horribly  gray  and  cold.  Still  the  world  turned  on 
its  axis  and  revolved  around  the  sun  at  the  rate,  for 
the  first  movement,  of  about  fourteen  miles  a  minute 
in  that  latitude,  and  for  the  other  movement  at  the 
rate  of  more  than  a  thousand  standard  miles  a  min 
ute.  So  that  Master  Romayne  was  scarcely  within 
the  truth  when  he  said  that  time  went  slowly.  It  did 
not  go  as  fast  as  he  wished.  But  it  did  move  with 
the  same  rapidity  which  is  observed  by  mercantile  men 
when  they  have  large  notes  falling  due. 

Meanwhile  he  was  attentive  to  all  the  ladies  at  the 
seminary.  He  made  friends  with  Mrs.  Hood  and  all 
Juliet's  nice  sisters.  He  tried  to  devise  little  atten 
tions  which  he  could  pay  to  each  of  them.  In  a  hun 
dred  ways  he  made  the  sisters  understand  that  it  is 
a  good  thing,  to  have  a  new  brother.  It  is  said  that 
women  despise  the  girl  whom  their  brother  marries, 
because  they  never  wanted  to  marry  him  themselves. 
This  is  not  always  true.  And  far  less  is  it  true,  as 


204  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,    AND    OTHERS 

Miss  Brooks  could  tell  us,  that  sisters  despise  the  man 
who  is  going  to  marry  their  sister. 

"  What  is  that  everlasting  book  ?"  said  Portia  one 
day  to  Bianca. 

"  The  book,  fortunately,  is  not  everlasting ;  it  is  Ge 
ology  in  Thirteen  Lessons.  My  class  is  at  the  seventh, 
and  I  am  at  the  tenth.  I  have  to  be  well  up,  for  that 
Beryl  Hitchcock  is  as  quick  as  a  flash,  and  knows 
much  more  than  the  book  does." 

"  It  is  just  so  with  Rose  and  Lily  in  the  botany," 
said  poor  Portia.  "  But  I  switch  them  off  on  analyzing, 
and  they  go  to  work  on  that,  and  forget  that  I  have 
not  asked  any  questions.  Now,  when  you  study  miner 
alogy  and  geology  and  such  you  cannot  switch  them 
off  on  analyzing.  It  would  not  do  to  put  a  pound  of 
dynamite  under  the  school-house  to  see  if  the  founda 
tions  are  on  a  rock.  Poor,  dear  Juliet,  who  will  do  the 
hydrostatics  when  she  is  away?  She  is  in  the  experi 
ment-room  now." 

"  Portia,  you  do  not  want  to  talk  about  experiments," 
said  Bianca,  resolutely,  for  she  knew  very  well  that 
Portia  had  something  on  her  mind.  For  herself,  there 
fore,  she  must  postpone  the  study  of  the  ice  sheet  till 
she  was  alone.  "  Do  you  remember  what  the  child  said 
in  Venetia:  'I  do  not  want  to  talk  of  butterflies,  nurse. 
I  want  to  talk  of  widows.' 

"  But,  Portia,"  continued  Bianca,  knowing  her  sister 
was  the  least  bit  slow,  "  I  am  sure  you  do  not  want  to 
talk  about  widows.  You  want  to  talk  about  brides 
or  bridegrooms,  or  one  bride  or  one  bridegroom." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Portia.  "  I  want  to  talk  about  wed 
ding  presents.  It  is  so  hard  to  get  anything  for  a  man. 


BOTH    THEIE    HOUSES  205 

You  know  I  had  made  up  my  mind —  And  then 
followed  all  the  pros  and  cons  about  a  landscape  by 
Richards,  which  she  had  seen  ;  about  a  complete  outfit 
for  a  travelling  artist,  all  because  poor  Romayne  had 
brought  to  Portia  a  little  water-color  sketch  of  his 
own ;  and  then  about  a  fac-simile  of  the  folio  Shake 
speare.  As  Bianca  knew,  Portia  had  fully  resolved, 
as  much  as  four  times,  to  buy  each  of  these,  for  this 
part  of  this  discussion  was  not  new. 

Bianca  gently  intimated  that  the  things  cost  no 
more  and  no  less  than  they  did  when  Portia  made 
her  last  decision,  and  that  probably  Romayne's  tastes 
and  wishes  had  not  changed. 

"  He  has  not  changed,  but  I  have  changed."  Bianca 
looked  up,  amazed  at  Portia's  tragic  air.  "  You  know, 
mamma  said  we  must  economize.  Mamma  said  I  could 
not  take  Juliet's  place,  and  you  could  not.  She  did 
not  know  who  could.  And  she  said  something  about 
reefing  sails  which  I  did  not  understand.  Only  this  I 
do  understand,  and  that  made  me  wonder  why  you 
bought  the  caramels  yesterday — that  we  may  be  poor, 
very,  very  poor.  Mamma  said  this  about  the  sails 
Sunday,  and  I  have  walked  to  the  village  every  day 
since,  to  train  myself  to  do  so  when  we  give  up  the 
coupe." 

Bianca  tried  to  be  sympathetic,  but  she  could  only 
scream.  "  You  poor,  darling,  good  girl !"  said  she ;  "  is 
this  your  mystery  ?  Dear  mamma  must  be  more  care 
ful  in  her  oracles.  Why,  my  child,  the  school  will  be 
fifty  times  as  prosperous  when  we  have  a  man  on  the 
home  staff.  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  ceased  to  be  a 
seminary  and  became  an  institute." 


206 


VIII 

Terror  in  Portia's  heart,  rage  in  Mrs.  Montague's 
heart,  in  Romayne's  heart  wonder  whether  the  week 
would  never  end — these  are  the  emotions  to  be  depict 
ed  by  those  who  act  in  our  little  tragedy.  For  Bianca's 
heart,  I  think  a  willingness  to  let  things  take  their 
course ;  and  for  Juliet's,  who  shall  tell  "  a  maiden's 
meditations,  fancy  bound "  ?  And  the  world  spun 
round,  though  Romayne  thought  it  did  not ;  the  moon 
rushed  round  a  quarter  of  her  revolution ;  the  week 
came  to  an  end ;  even  the  day  came  to  an  end. 

They  had  no  minister  at  New  Padua,  or  rather  he 
had  a  sore  throat,  and  was  studying  evolution  at  Halle. 
So  our  Father  Lawrence  went  over  there  to  marr}^ 
them.  All  the  people  went  over.  Strangest  of  all, 
Mrs.  Montague  went  over. 

"  Not  that  I  go  willingly,"  she  said  to  Effie  at  the 
last  moment,  as  the  girl  arranged  some  magnificent 
diamonds  which  Romayne  had  given  his  mother;  "I 
do  not  go  willingly,  and  no  one  thinks  I  go  willingly. 
But  who  knows  ?  They  may  be  married  by  the  bishop. 
They  were  never  very  sound.  Then  there  must  be 
some  one  to  give  my  son  away." 

For  Mrs.  Montague  leans  to  the  third  primitive 
secession,  and  is  doubtful  about  other  rituals  than  her 
own.  So  she  went  to  her  martyrdom.  She  herself 
saw  to  the  toilets  of  her  daughters,  in  a  fashion,  so  that 
those  wretched  girls  at  the  Hoods'  should  not  in  any 
sort  eclipse  them.  How  many  there  were  she  did  not 
know,  she  said ;  she  believed  they  made  up  most  of  the 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  207 

scholars.  Her  own  "  exhibit,"  as  the  managers  of  fairs 
say,  was  perfect.  Her  coachman  Michael  was  in  a 
new  livery  with  an  immense  favor.  Otto  was  on  the 
box  with  Michael,  with  a  bigger  favor.  Only  Fritz 
was  in  Mrs.  Montague's  carriage ;  and  the  girls,  with 
Komayne,  were  in  their  own  carriage  behind,  with  An 
ders  as  grand  as  Michael,  and  Francois  with  him  on 
the  box,  each  with  gorgeous  favors.  Even  the  horses 
had  favors  covering  the  blinders,  which  the  grooms  had 
compelled  the  chambermaids  to  make  for  them.  Then, 
in  that  great  drag  which  the  Montagues  send  to  the 
station  for  their  guests,  followed  every  man  and  wom 
an  of  the  staff  of  the  house.  Actually  old  Katy,  the 
housekeeper,  who  had  carried  Romayne  to  the  font 
when  he  was  baptized,  locked  the  side  door  and  put  the 
key  in  her  pocket.  For  there  was  not  one  person  in 
that  house  who  would  stay  away  from  Eomayne's 
wedding.  Had  Mrs.  Montague  stayed,  I  do  not  know 
who  would  have  got  her  supper. 

"  I  should  have  been  frightened  out  of  my  skin," 
said  she. 

And  at  the  seminary  everything  was  elegant  and 
just  right.  It  was  "  ever  so  pretty."  Since  Mrs.  Hood 
bought  the  Flinders  lot,  and  made  her  own  avenue 
through  the  maples,  the  approach  to  the  house  has 
been  "about  as  fine  as  they  make."  To-night  this 
was  blazing  with  electric  light,  and  the  designs  for  the 
illumination,  without  being  showy,  were  all  convenient, 
pretty,  and,  to  us  country  people,  wholly  new.  The 
greenhouse  must  have  been  emptied,  I  should  have 
said,  such  was  the  show  of  plants  at  the  entrance.  But 
afterwards,  when  I  took  Bianca  in  there  to  get  a  part 


208  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,    AND    OTHERS 

of  this  story  from  her  and  to  have  "a  little  conver 
sation,"  I  did  not  see  but  it  was  as  brilliant  as  ever. 
Anyway,  we  entered  through  a  tropical  garden.  I  saw 
that  dried -up  Mr.  Roger  from  the  apothecary  store, 
and  Hugh  Roger  by  him.  Juliet  had  not  forgotten 
her  old  friends. 

We  were  shown  to  various  disrobing-rooms  by  pret 
ty  maids,  who  had  little  favors  of  orange  blossoms. 
Strauss's  orchestra  from  New  York  was  playing  music 
so  ravishing  that  I  would  have  pardoned  Father  Law 
rence  if  the  service  all  went  out  of  his  head  as  he 
listened.  Romayne  came  up  with  me  and  some  of  the 
other  fellows.  He  made  his  sister  carry  in  for  Juliet 
the  great  blue  box  which  held  her  bouquet. 

A  minute  more  and  Effie  came  out  again,  blushing 
her  prettiest,  and  said,  "  Juliet  wants  to  see  you,  Ro." 

And  Ro  went  into  that  mysterious  bride-chamber, 
which  he  had  never  seen  before.  And  there  stood  his 
own  dear  girl,  wonderful  and  gracious.  Her  veil  lay 
across  a  great  table  waiting  for  the  bridemaid  to  put 
it  on  her  at  the  last  moment.  The  damask  in  which 
Madam  Mifflin,  her  great-grandmother,  had  been  mar 
ried  had  been  dug  out  of  a  Ginevra  chest.  Madam 
Mifflin's  skeleton  was  not  found  with  it,  for  she  lived 
to  dance  at  Madison's  second  inauguration.  This  bro 
cade  was  to  be  worn  to-night.  And  Romayne  said, 
u  Oh,  my  darling,  I  am  afraid  to  kiss  you.  " 

"  Never  fear  that,"  said  she.  "  We  will  do  it  again 
when  I  am  ninety  to  remember  to-night  by." 

"  It  seemed  to  me,"  said  he,  "  that  the  day  would 
never  be  done." 

"  But  it  is,  you  see.     When  will  you  learn  to  be  rea- 


BOTH    THEIR    HOUSES  209 

sonable?  Romayne,  when  you  say  such  things  I  am 
afraid  for  you." 

"  Afraid  for  me,  Juliet  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  forget  that  the  pressure 
increases  with  the  squares,  and  even  with  the  cubes, 
and  if  your  lower  ranges  are  to  stand  it  long,  you 
must  put  in  heavier  tubing." 

"Oh,  now  you  can  laugh;  you  may  say  anything," 
said  the  happy  fellow,  only  wondering  that  she  chose 
to  chaff  him  just  now. 

"You  goose!"  said  she;  "do  you  not  know  why  I 
have  called  you  ?" 

"  I  hoped  you  called  me  to  marry  me,"  said  he,  rue 
fully. 

"  I  called  you  to  explain  to  you  the  mystery." 

"  My  darling,  you  are  so  beautiful,  I  forgot  there 
was  a  mystery." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Juliet.  "  I  thought  you 
were  perfect;  now  I  know  you  are.  All  the  more  shall 
you  know."  Then,  with  a  tragic  pause :  "  Do  you  see 
this  key  ?  Do  you  see  yon  door  ?  Open  it."  And  she 
stood  silent,  not  quite  daring  to  look  up. 

Romayne  opened  the  door.  Within  was  a  perfect 
plumber's  equipment — pincers,  clippers,  big  solderers, 
little  solderers,  bismuth  strip,  super -strip,  sub -strip, 
saws,  augers,  test  bottles,  cinnamon  and  rose-water, 
piping  of  every  size — all  were  there. 

"Romayne,  your  own  Juliet  does  the  plumbing  for 
the  seminary.  This  is  my  mystery — and  my  mother's." 


COLONEL  INGHAM'S  JOUKNEY 

[THE  artist  Turner  is  said  to  have  slipped  away  from  London  ouce 
in  the  month  of  May,  to  have  gone  down  to  Hull  in  a  pea-jacket, 
and  persuaded  a  whaler  to  take  him  as  a  passenger.  So  he  had  a 
chance  to  study  arctic  fogs  and  icebergs,  and  the  various  forms  of 
tempest,  to  his  heart's  content.  And  there  are  critics  who  think  they 
can  trace  in  his  work  afterwards  the  result  of  this  weird  experience. 

We  were  talking  of  this  vacation  of  Turner's  one  Christmas  even 
ing,  which  we  spent  together — the  Inghams,  the  Carters,  and  the 
Hackmatacks— at  Haliburton's  house.  A  funny  smile  came  over  Ing- 
ham's  face,  which  George  Hackmatack  understood,  and  he  said  at 
once,  "What  do  you  know  of  Baffin's  Bay,  Ingham  ?"  for  George 
knew  that  Ingham's  smile  meant  that  he  had  gone  beyond  Turner. 

Now  Ingham  is  a  silent  man,  especially  in  the  matter  of  his  own 
achievements.  He  is  much  more  apt  to  squeeze  the  sponges  of  the 
people  around  him,  and  to  make  out  their  biographies,  than  to  give 
anybody  much  hint  of  his  own.  But  the  children  began  an  attack 
when  they  found  there  was  a  chance  of  a  story,  and  we  gave  him 
no  mercy  till  he  began. 

When  he  had  finished,  I  did  not  wonder  that  he  had  never  told  it 
before.] 


It  was  all  a  philosophical  experiment.  I  had  given 
a  great  deal  of  thought  and  study  to  the  problems  of 
Sleep.  I  once  lectured  on  Sleep  all  through  the  West 
ern  cities,  with  illustrations  by  the  audience.  That  was, 


COLONEL  INGHAM'S  JOUKNEY  211 

however,  my  last  winter  on  the  "  Lyceum  Platform." 
The  committees  thought  I  ought  to  furnish  my  own 
illustrations.  Since  then  I  have  only  been  asked  to 
lecture  in  the  charitable  courses,  where  they  do  not  pay. 

It  is  queer,  when  you  think  of  it,  that  the  problem 
has  not  been  worked  out  before.  Here  is  this  untiring 
soul,  clothed  upon  with  a  body  which  grows  tired.  The 
body  needs  rest,  and  finds  .it  in  sleep.  Where  is  the 
man  meanwhile?  This  infinite  soul,  who  half  an  hour 
ago  was  listening  to  Isaiah,  or  walking  with  Orion  across 
the  heavens,  where  has  he  gone  while  the  body  is  cov 
ered  up  in  bedclothes  ?  You  do  not  think  the  soul  has 
pulled  the  blanket  round  his  neck,  do  you  ? 

I  had  brooded  over  this  a  good  deal,  when  one  night, 
as  my  terrestrial  globe  stood  in  a  strong  light  from  a 
kerosene  lamp,  which  made  a  very  decent  sun  for  it,  I 
was  showing  Blanche  Stockhardt,  who  is  one  of  my 
pets,  how  nearly  opposite  to  Jerusalem  is  Pitcainrs 
Island,  the  modern  paradise,  and  then  I  turned  it  to 
make  noon  over  this  Boston  of  ours,  and  to  show  the 
child  how  it  was  midnight  in  China. 

Of  course  at  that  moment  the  mystery  of  Sleep  was 
explained  to  me,  and  it  has  been  no  mystery  since. 

You  see,  do  you  not?  The  soul  has  no  care  about 
distance.  Of  course  the  moment  when  this  body  does 
not  need  him,  though  for  only  an  hour  of  night,  the 
soul  has  only  to  pass  across  there  where  it  is  day,  and 
start  up  another  machine,  which  is  just  ready  to  be 
awakened. 

In  that  moment  I  saw  that  there  are  two  of  me — one 
here  in  Boston,  and  the  other  there  in  the  Chinese 
Empire.  I  did  not  then  know  the  name  of  the  place, 


212  SUSAN'S    ESCOKT,  AND    OTHERS 

but  as  soon  as  I  got  Franquelin  &  Hue's  map  I  found 
it.  Here  it  is  (said  Ingham,  crossing  the  room) :  it  is  in 
this  little  oasis  in  the  great  desert  of  Gobi.  It  is  a  place 
called  Pe-ling,  but  it  is  not  to  be  confounded  with  the 
Pe-ling  Mountains.  They  are  quite  different,  as  the 
Chinese  post-office  once  explained  to  me.  This  Pe-ling 
is  a  little  leather  town,  where  they  have  a  one-horse 
sort  of  a  tannery.  The  other,  as  I  call  him,  wakes 
when  I  sleep.  His  name  out  there  is  Kan-schau.  He 
is  a  man  who  keeps  account  of  skins  as  the  people 
bring  them  in.  He  is  a  sort  of  civil-service  man,  who 
gets  his  income  once  a  month  from  the  government. 

[I  need  hardly  say  that  we  were  aghast  when  Ingham  went  into 
this  detail  on  subjects  of  which  we  thought  he  could  not  possibly 
know  anything.  But  we  knew  him  quite  too  well  to  interrupt. 
When  his  engine  is  thrown  off  the  track  it  breaks  all  travel  on  all 
lines  for  that  day,  and  numberless  jack  screws  are  needed  before  an}7 
traffic  can  be  renewed.  So  we  let  him  go  on.] 


II 

You  know  I  had  had  to  do  with  that  region,  only  it 
was  farther  north.  I  spent  the  better  part  of  a  summer 
once  working  with  the  telegraph  at  Kofpo  Ston,  a 
pretty  place  on  Lake  Baikal,  on  the  Russian  side  of 
the  line.  There  we  had  more  or  less  to  do  with  Chi 
nese  traders,  and  I  made  one  of  them  teach  me  a  little 
colloquial  Chinese  by  the  Mastery  method  of  Prender- 
gast.  It  only  requires  you  to  commit  one  hundred  and 
seventeen  words  to  memory  in  sixteen  different  phrases. 
So  soon  as  Blanche  Stockhardt  had  gone  I  found  my 


COLONEL    ING  HAM'S    JOURNEY  213 

Chinese  lexicon,  and  wrote  the  other  body  a  note,  ask 
ing  about  his  health  and  his  habits.  The  next  day,  as 
I  tell  you,  I  hunted  up  the  Franquelin  atlas,  and  found 
the  place.  I  did  not  know  his  name — I  mean,  of  course, 
my  name— out  there.  But  I  directed  the  note,  which 
was  written  in  the  first-chop,  gold-button,  highest  Man 
darin  language  of  all,  to  "  The  Most  Sensible  Man  in 
Pe-ling." 

But  this  was  the  letter  which,  as  I  said,  was  returned 
to  me  by  the  Chinese,  post-office,  with  the  statement 
that  they  had  searched  all  through  the  Pe-ling  Moun 
tains,  and  there  was  no  such  person  there  as  the  one 
mentioned  on  the  letter.  The  truth  is  that  our  Pe-ling 
—our  antipodes  on  the  parallel  of  latitude — latitude 
42°  23'  north,  longitude  110°  east,  has,  as  I  said,  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  Pe-ling  Mountains.  It  was,  on  the 
whole,  much  better  that  that  letter  did  not  hit  him  ;  for, 
when  I  got  no  answer,  I  hit  on  a  much  better  plan. 
And  so  it  was  that  I  saw  Turner,  as  I  tell  you. 

[He  had  not  told  us  any  such  thing.  But  this  is  Ingham's  way. 
And,  as  I  say,  it  is  so  risky  to  interrupt  him  that  \ve  always  let  hirn 
go  on.] 

It  occurred  to  me  one  day  that — if  the  Chinese  body 
kept  at  the  accurate  distance  of  longitude,  as,  in  theo 
ry,  it  certainly  would — when  I,  Fred  Ingham,  walked 
north  on  the  TOth  meridian,  Kaolin,  as  I  then  called 
my  other  machine,  would  walk  north  on  the  110th.  If 
I  walked  or  rode  west  to  Albany — four  or  five  degrees 
of  longitude — Kaolin  would,  of  course,  go  west  on  his 
parallel — say  to  Ling-shaw.  Clearly  enough,  then,  if  I 
wanted  to  talk  matters  over  with  him,  he  and  I  had 


214  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

only  to  go  to  the  north  pole — I  on  the  meridian  of  70°, 
and  he  on  that  of  110°.  And  on  this  simple  plan  I 
went  to  work.  It  is  a  much  easier  business  than  you 
think  it,  when  you  begin  to  think,  as  everybody  does, 
by  supposing  an  expedition  there  to  be  a  government 
affair,  with  measurements  of  magnetic  force,  and  decli 
nation,  and  dip,  and  all  that. 

I  cared  nothing  for  the  dip — what  I  wanted  was  to 
see  my  other  self,  Kaolin. 

["I  should  think  lie  was  beside  himself  when  he  started,"  said 
George,  in  a  whisper.  But,  for  reasons  stated,  no  one  dared  speak 
aloud.  Little  Annie  pulled  at  George  eagerly  to  keep  him  quiet,] 

Of  course  (continued  Ingham),  if  a  man  cares  about 
the  difference  between  Tetmpus  arcticus  and  Telrapus 
borealis,  he  must  carry  a  lot  of  books  with  him  and  a 
man  of  science.  If  he  carries  a  man  of  science,  he  must 
carry  the  man's  rations  and  his  cook,  and  a  man  to  drag 
his  sled,  and  so  on.  Hence  what  are  called  "expedi 
tions."  But  if  a  man  is  only  going  to  see  a  friend,  or 
to  see  himself,  as  I  was  "veluti  in  speculo  " — as  the  Vul 
gate  hath  it — and  if  he  only  cares  for  Tetrapus  arcti 
cus  as  so  much  good  carbon  and  nitrogen,  to  be  torn  in 
pieces  and  devoured  for  the  body's  fuel,  why,  he  goes 
as  I  might  go  to  Young's  or  to  Parker's  for  my  lunch, 
without  an  "  expedition  "  to  carry  me. 

I  began  by  running  down  to  New  London.  All  this 
was  long  ago,  and  they  still  carried  on  the  whale-fishery 
there.  Yes,  Ned,  I  went  to  your  cousins,  or  your  wife's 
cousins,  those  princes,  the  Perkinses :  they  were  in  that 
business  then. 

Then  and  there  I  learned,  what  I  fancy  most  of  you 


215 

do  not  know,  that  there  is  such  a  charm  about  that 
arctic  life  that  the  whalemen  always  want  to  be  left  for 
the  winter  when  the  ship  comes  home  with  oil.  This 
is  the  way  that  the  trade  has  been  carried  on  of  late 
years.  You  send  up  a  ship,  as  soon  as  the  ice  is  open, 
with  a  full  crew.  You  join  the  men  you  left  the  last 
autumn.  They  have  been  fishing  from  the  shore  all 
the  time  except  in  the  very  dead  of  winter,  and  trying 
out  their  oil.  You  take  on  board  the  oil  they  have 
made,  and  spend  the  summer  making  more.  Then  you 
bring  back  all  your  oil.  But  the  point  is,  as  Mr.  Per 
kins  told  me,  that  all  the  men  are  eager  to  stay.  It  is 
a  reward  to  stay.  You  leave  those  who  have  behaved 
well,  and  the  half  which  comes  home  is  sour  and  dis 
appointed. 

Well,  I  did  not  tell  my  whole  plan  to  the  Perkinses. 
They  agreed  to  send  me  as  far  north  as  they  could. 
They  agreed  to  take  aboard  an  extra  boat  for  my  pur 
poses.  As  it  proved,  their  captain  —  no,  it  was  not 
Budington,  it  was  another  man — advanced  my  plans  in 
every  way,  though  he  did  not  quite  know  what  they 
were. 

[No  one  had  said  it  \vas  Budington.  But  the  reader  must  under 
stand,  once  for  all,  that  this  ejaculatory  or  parenthetical  manner  is  in 
Ingham's  way,  and  must  be  taken  for  granted.] 

So  I  got  my  traps  together  and  started.  We  were 
to  put  in  at  Upernavik,  as  they  all  do.  Yes,  there  is  a 
Lowernavik,  or  was,  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
The  Governor  was  very  civil  —  only  too  civil.  His 
daughter  was  pretty.  You  remember  her  picture.  No, 
not  in  Hayes's  book:  before  that.  No,  not  in  Parry's: 


216  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

she  was  a  baby  then.  I  have  her  picture  somewhere. 
And  it  was  at  a  party  he  gave  us  and  some  English 
men  from  Hull  that  I  met  Turner. 

Had  you  rather  I  should  tell  you  about  Turner,  or 
about  Kaolin  or  Kan-schau?  For  really  I  am  talking 
too  much.  I  am  doing  all  the  talking. 

[And  Ingham  looked  at  his  watch.  The  children  cared  nothing 
for  Turner  :  they  hardly  knew  who  he  was.  They  clamored  for  the 
north  pole  and  Kau-schau  ;  and  Ingham,  well  pleased,  went  on.] 


Ill 

As  I  said,  I  had  no  scientific  purposes.  I  was  not  to 
write  a  book,  or  to  present  a  report.  I  was  not  even 
going  into  society,  as  men  call  society.  I  was  only 
going  to  meet  my  other  self — not  my  better  half,  whom 
I  already  knew  I  had  left  at  home.  (And  here  Ingham 
looked  affectionately  at  Polly,  who  was  knitting  by  the 
fire.)  I  wanted  to  see  myself  just  as  others  see  me.  So 
I  meant  to  rely,  as  at  bottom  all  the  grandest  expedi 
tions  rely,  on  the  native  Greenlanders.  I  found  plenty 
of  them  ready  to  be  hired.  I  had  not  to  tell  them 
whether  we  were  going  north,  south,  east,  or  west. 
Enough  for  them  that  they  had  good  guns  given  them, 
such  a  harpoon  and  such  shark  hooks  and  cod  hooks 
as  they  never  saw  before,  promise  of  good  wages,  and 
instructions  to  report  on  board  the  Sarah,  with  eight 
dogs,  on  the  morning  she  sailed. 

Then  came  a  great  piece  of  luck.  Baffin's  Bay  in  win 
ter  is  much  like  this  water-bottle  when  it  left  the  ice 


217 

machine,  and  had  a  solid  block  of  ice  frozen  in  it  close 
to  each  side.  Baffin's  Bay,  on  the  20th  of  June,  is  much 
like  this  same  bottle  now,  where  the  ice  block  floats 
as  it  chooses  in  melted  water.  It  is  as  the  turn  of 
a  straw,  it  is  the  chance  of  the  wind,  whether  the 
"pack"  of  ice  hugs  the  east  coast  or  the  west.  By 
good  luck  that  spring  it  held  close  in  to  the  west  coast; 
by  good  luck  the  winds  were  northeasterly,  and  the 
"pack"  all  drifted  west.  We  cracked  north  in  the 
Sarah,  in  no  time.  The  captain  meant  to  leave  me  at 
the  beginning  of  Smith  Sound,  but  he  found  that  open, 
and  he  said  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  sailing 
up.  It  was  early  July.  The  days  were  all  one ;  the 
sun  was  "  ever  so  high  "  at  midnight.  The  sky — oh,  it- 
was  so  clear ! — as  if  we  had  been  in  Spain.  In  one  day 
—we  hardly  tacked  twice— we  ran  all  through  that 
rather  critical  channel,  which  took  its  discoverers  all 
summer,  and  my  good  captain  said  he  was  fairly 
tempted  to  run  to  the  north  pole. 

But  of  course  he  was  for  whales,  and  must  not  go 
exploring.  He  landed  me  and  my  traps,  and  my  two 
men,  and  my  eight  dogs,  and  my  whale-boat,  under  the 
lee  of  a  bold  cliff  that  runs  out— say  here,  if  you  will 
look  at  my  map,  Clara.  Here  is  Baffin's  Bay,  this  will 
do  for  Kennedy  Land,  and  here  we  are  at  Cape  Douglas- 
Digges.  They  gave  us  three  cheers.  I  gave  them  three, 
and  the  Greenlanders  howled  something ;  the  dogs 
howled  more.  They  filled  away  for  the  south,  and  we 
sent  our  blessing  with  them.  No,  I  did  not  feel  lonely. 
A  man  carries  the  middle  of  the  world  with  him.  The 
world  is  just  as  level,  as  hilly,  as  large,  as  small,  there 
as  it  is  anywhere.  The  sea  was  all  open  at  the  north, 


218  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

only  the  wind  hauled  a  little  more  into  the  north.  I 
did  not  like  that  then,  but  it  proved  an  advantage,  as 
3^ou  will  see. 

A  good  whale-boat  like  that  will  carry,  with  crowd 
ing,  eighteen  men.  We  were  but  three,  with  eight 
dogs  and  with  Jan's  sled,  which  I  laid  bottom  up  over 
the  bow,  and  the  dogs  rather  liked  to  crawl  in  under 
neath  to  sleep.  I  liked  to  have  them,  for  they  are 
not  very  sociable  brutes,  and  they  have  few  entertain 
ing  tricks.  I  had  no  reason  for  staying  a  moment  at 
Douglas-Digges.  Jan  and  Hans  were  the  most  good- 
natured  men-Fridays  who  ever  walked  in  salt-water  to 
pack  stores  away.  We  hauled  and  lifted,  and  got  the 
bags  and  the  little  barrel  and  the  two  boxes  fitted  to 
my  mind,  after  some  trial.  Then  I  stepped  my  little 
mast,  Jan  called  in  his  dogs,  whipped  the  sulky  ones, 
and  I  cast  off ;  she  had  been  fastened  to  a  bowlder  of 
basalt  which  had  rolled  down  from  the  cliff,  and  the 
tide  was  on  the  flow. 

I  had  rigged  her  with  a  leg-of-mutton  sail— just  as 
we  saw  those  boats  at  Huelva,  George.  Jan  generally 
sat  forward  on  his  sled.  But  I  could  tend  the  sail  as  I 
sat  in  the  stern.  You  know  you  steer  a  whale-boat 
with  an  oar. 

Well,  you  do  not  care  anything  about  our  log.  But 
the  truth  is  that  that  day's  success  and  the  next  told 
the  whole  story.  Days  we  call  them.  But  really 
when  at  midnight  you  have  the  sun  nearly  as  high  as 
our  noon  sun  is  at  Christmas,  you  do  not  say  much 
about  this  day  or  that  day.  Briefly,  I  cracked  on, 
sometimes  eight  knots  an  hour,  as  I  sailed  for  forty- 
one  hours.  I  could  not  go  quite  to  the  north.  But  my 


COLONEL    INGHAM'S   JOURNEY  219 

boat  sailed  very  well  into  the  wind.  I  soon  got  tired 
of  holding  an  oar  for  a  rudder,  and  so  did  Hans,  and 
we  lashed  our  steering  oar  to  a  davit  and  a  cleat.  I 
made  very  long  tacks,  running  once  twenty-nine  knots 
on  the  same  course  to  the  east  of  north,  and  once  fifteen 
knots  and  more  to  the  west  of  north.  The  wind  came 
round  to  the  west  and  southwest.  I  thought  then,  and 
afterwards  I  was  sure,  that  in  those  forty-one  hours  of 
that  steady  pull  I  made  near  two  hundred  miles  north 
ing;  that  is,  you  see,  nearly  three  degrees.  And,  as  I 
say,  with  that  one  long  bit,  in  less  than  two  days  from 
the  Sarah,  it  proved  that  my  success  wras  won — if  it 
were  success,  after  all. 

Forty-one  hours,  on  the  whole,  towards  the  pole, 
brought  me,  alas!  to  land  again.  I  was  afraid.it  was 
land  first  when  I  was  taking  the  sun's  declination, 
which  I  did  every  hour.  I  had,  indeed,  nothing  else  to 
do.  The  sea  was  as  dull  there  as  it  always  is.  I 
thought  my  horizon  was  bad,  and  then  with  my  binoc 
ular  I  became  sure  it  was  not  the  sea.  Sure  enough, 
"low  land,  and  all  was  well" — no  longer.  For  when 
we  came  to  that  beach  our  hard  work  began.  I  had 
brought  rollers  from  Upernavik,  and  when  we  beached 
her,  heavy  as  she  was,  we  harnessed  the  dogs,  and  with 
their  help  we  dragged  her  high  and  dry,  above  any 
tide,  upon  a  sort  of  dry  lichen  there  was,  where  we 
could  see  that  deer  had  been.  To  my  horror,  however, 
there  was  neither  ice  nor  snow.  There  was  a  low  hill, 
but  I  got  little  comfort  from  the  prospect  at  the  top. 

Here,  you  see,  I  was  about  five  degrees,  say  three 
hundred  and  fifty  miles,  from  the  pole,  and  I  and  two 
men  and  eight  dogs  were  to  travel  there  and  back  in, 


220  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

say,  twenty-five  days.  It  was  as  if  you  had  to  go  to 
Syracuse  and  back,  from  Boston,  with  no  road.  The 
vehicle  was  a  large  two-handed  boy's  sled— not  what 
you  call  a  double-runner,  Dick,  but  twice  as  wide  and 
twice  as  long  as  your  clipper-sled—rigged  with  a  pole 
for  two  men  to  haul  at.  But  the  land  coast  ran  sheer 
east  and  west,  and  I  would  not  lose  even  a  day  by 
cruising  along  either  way.  Eight  over  the  lichen  I 
started  due  north,  harnessing  the  dogs  to  drag,  and 
taking  enough  canned  food  for  ten  days  for  me  and 
Jan  and  Hans.  If  the  guns  would  not  do  the  rest, 
why,  we  must  come  back. 

Awful  work  that  first  day,  and  the  second !  We 
made  only  twenty-three  miles  north  in  both.  Then  we 
came  to  the  strangest  flat  steppe  there  is  this  side  of 
Siberia,  ankle-deep  in  lichen,  what  people  call  reindeer- 
moss,  I  suppose.  The  sled  flew  over  it  as  it  would  over 
rough  snow.  If  we  had  not  watched  those  brutes  they 
would  have  dragged  it  away  from  us  and  mankind. 
At  last  we  took  turns  in  riding,  merely  to  keep  them 
back  after  they  fed.  Fed  ?  Yes.  They  had  blood  and 
fat  and  all  things  they  liked,  more  than  was  good  for 
them,  for  the  deer  would  stand  to  be  shot.  They  were 
no  more  afraid  of  us  than  the  paroquets  were  of  poor 
Cowper.  Their  tameness  was  shocking  to  me.  As  for 
fire,  the  only  trouble  was  to  keep  from  setting  fire  to 
too  much  of  this  lichen,  and  so  setting  the  north  half  of 
the  world  in  a  blaze.  This  lucky  hit  lasted  us  three 
full  days  more.  We  could  not  keep  at  our  work  more 
than  eleven  hours  a  day ;  but  in  those  eighty  hours, 
more  or  less,  we  did  make  nearly  a  degree  and  a  half 
of  latitude.  When  we  came  to  the  sea  again  we  were 


221 

two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  farther  north  than  man 
had  ever  been  known  to  be. 

But  we  did  come  to  the  sea.  And  now  we  had  no 
boat,  and  it  was  quite  too  cold  to  swim  far;  that  is,  the 
water  was.  I  had  no  quarrel  with  the  air.  Happily  the 
tide  was  out,  the  beach  was  wide,  and  the  coast  trended 
north-northwest,  a  point  west.  How  well  I  remember! 
Over  the  beach  sand,  though  we  were  dead  tired,  I 
forged  on,  fairly  running  the  dogs,  for  I  knew  this  sand 
gave  easy  dragging  compared  with  what  the  upland  was 
beginning  to  be.  The  lichen  had  given  out,  or  was 
giving  out,  and  there  were  loose  stones,  as  there  had 
not  been  before.  That  was  Tuesday,  as  I  well  remem 
ber.  Till  Friday  night,  I  know,  we  ran  the  dogs,  or 
made  them  work  all  through  the  hours  of  low  tide,  six, 
and  sometimes  seven.  Five  or  six  hours  at  high  tide 
we  all  slept — and  I  tell  you  the  dogs  slept  sound — on 
the  upland.  ]STo  trouble  about  their  eating  or  ours; 
only  a  monotonous  bill  of  fare.  Seals  galore !  a  stupid 
seal  at  every  headland,  and  lying  on  the  shore  in  herds 
or  flocks  sometimes,  so  that  they  were  fairly  in  the 
way.  You  do  not  like  train-oil,  Clara,  because  you 
always  see  it  rancid ;  but  in  the  open  air,  warm  from 
the  blubber,  if  you  had  been  walking  and  running  a 
week,  you  might  fancy  it. 

That  coast  is  just  like  the  Jersey  shore.  It  is  flat  as 
your  hand,  as  we  say.  There  is  one  stretch  where  we 
ran  almost  due  north  thirty-six  miles,  if  the  sextant 
did  not  lie.  In  those  days  between  Tuesday  and  Fri 
day  I  made  more  than  two  degrees.  Still  open  sea 
on  the  west  of  me.  If  I  had  only  had  my  whale- 
boat!  But  I  did  have  the  dogs,  and  they  were  as 


222  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

well  as  horses— are  said  to  be.  My  horse  is  always 
sick. 

It  was  that  lucky  bit  of  beach — beach  hardly  broken 
by  a  crack  of  inlet— which  gave  us  our  last  success. 
Sometimes  we  had  to  go  into  the  water  knee -deep 
at  some  inlet,  and  once  I  went  in  as  high  as  my 
armpits.  That  time  it  was  a  carry — when  we  floated 
the  sled,  and  swam  the  dogs,  and  took  the  bags  and 
boxes  and  the  barrel  in  our  arms.  But  the  hard  run 
afterwards  warmed  us  very  soon,  I  can  tell  you,  and 
dried  us. 

And  now,  if  you  have  counted,  you  can  see  we  were 
near  half-way.  I  mean  we  were  near  the  pole — and 
the  pole  was,  of  course,  half-way  back  to  Douglas- 
Digges.  By  my  last  three  declinations,  when  I  came 
into  camp  that  Friday  night— night  we  called  it— in 
broad  sunshine,  I  was  only  twenty -four  miles  and  a 
little  more  from  the  pole — twenty-one  minutes  of  lati 
tude,  Dick,  if  you  are  particular:  quite  as  close,  that,  ns 
the  vernier  of  my  sextant  would  read  for  me. 

But  here  the  shore  began  to  trend  west,  and  even 
south  of  west.  I  had  been  conscious  for  some  time 
that  I  was  running  up  a  bay  like  Chesapeake  Bay, 
and  I  was  now  near  the  head  of  it.  I  fed  the  dogs 
on  the  last  seal  we  had  killed — you  knock  them  on  the 
head  with  an  axe,  Harry — and  we  all  got  into  our  bags 
for  sleep,  I  a  good  deal  excited  now  as  to  the  issue. 
Before  supper  was  done  it  had  clouded  over.  I  was 
glad  I  had  made  my  observations.  When  I  took  the 
sun  at  noon — which  was  after  we  camped — I  had  staked 
out  a  north  and  south  line.  By  this  I  tested  my  com 
pass,  which  pointed  about  south-southwest.  The  varia- 


tion  was  152°  south.     So  untrue  is  it  that  the  constant 
needle  points  to  any  pole — but  its  own. 

When  I  waked  in  the  morning  it  was  snowing,  and 
my  bag  had  six  inches  of  snow  on  it.  Yes,  Clara,  you 
sleep  in  a  bag  of  felt,  inside  a  bag  of  canvas,  inside  a 
bag  of  India-rubber  cloth.  After  you  are  in  the  bag 
you  button  it  up  over  your  head,  with  only  a  little 
nose-hole  for  air.  So  it  does  not  much  matter  whether 
it  snows  or  not.  I  rolled  Hans  over  Jan  and  waked 
them,  and  explained  that  we  were  to  leave  their  dear 
sea  and  cross  the  land  again.  Hans  said  we  should 
find  deer,  but  I  doubted.  I  only  told  them  both  that 
we  had  not  far  to  go.  Nor  had  we.  Rough  it  was, 
very  hard  it  was,  while  the  snow  lasted.  But  by  noon 
this  cleared  away,  and  at  six  I  let  them  camp.  There 
was  old  snow,  and  in  an  hour  they  had  built  a  snow  hut 
under  the  lee  of  a  hill.  We  slept  like  bears,  and  the 
next  day — Sunday — there  were  but  eleven  miles,  as  I 
counted,  between  me  and  the  pole. 


IV 

1  let  Hans,  who  had  hurt  his  foot,  stay  in  the  hut 
with  the  dogs. 

The  sun  had  come  out  again.  The  world  was  white 
with  new  snow. 

I  was  almost  provoked  that  the  country  was  so  unin 
teresting. 

It  was  not  flat. 

It  was  not  mountainous. 


224 

There  was  no  great  cup  in  the  midst  of  which  a 
pole  rose  high  to  the  sky. 

There  was  no  sugar-loaf,  like  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe, 
rising  in  my  horizon  northward. 

There  was  only  a  vulgar  rolling  country,  beautiful  as 
new  snow  is  always  beautiful,  but  as  little  varied- 
well,  as  that  stretch  is  between  Tobolsk  and  Smilkelsk, 
if  you  take  the  lower  road. 

I  bade  Jan  take  his  gun,  and  put  in  his  pouch  a  can 
of  beef.  For  me,  I  carried  nothing  but  hardtack  and 
cartridges. 

It  was  Sunday  morning. 

Up  and  down.  Not  a  tree,  not  a  bush,  not  a  rock, 
not  a  sound,  not  a  beast,  not  a  bird.  I  was  sorry 
we  had  not  worn  our  snow-shoes.  But  Jan  drew 
the  empty  sled :  he  was  sure  we  should  strike  a 
deer. 

Up  and  down.  North,  still  north.  One  hour,  two 
hours,  three.  About  eleven  I  called  a  halt.  I  ate  two 
or  three  biscuits,  and  gave  Jan  as  many. 

Why  was  I  so  hopelessly  sleepy  ? 

Half  an  hour's  rest;  and  as  I  was  rousing  myself  I 
saw  poor  Jan,  without  an  apology,  drop  bodily  on  the 
ground  and  go  to  sleep. 

It  was  not  cold  enough  for  him  to  be  stupefied.  Why 
were  we  so  sleepy  ? 

On  the  whole,  I  thought  I  would  leave  Jan.  He 
had  cleared  the  snow  to  the  ground.  And  I  covered 
him  with  a  heavy  bearskin  he  had  upon  the  sled.  My 
march  was  now  less  than  an  hour.  I  would  take  his 
beef  for  a  lunch.  I  knew  he  would  sleep  till  I  came 
back  again. 


COLONEL  INGHAM'S  JOURNEY  225 

North  for  the  last  tramp  of  all  1 
I  took  the  sled  with  me. 

As  I  pulled  up  a  long  slope  there  is,  just  before 
you  come  to  the  pole  itself,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
should  die  with  sleep.  Still,  of  mere  will  power,  I 
pressed  on  until  I  turned  the  summit,  and  looked  still 
north. 

A  wide,  flat  plain  a  hundred  feet  below  me  stretched 
I  cannot  tell  how  far  away.  Perhaps  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  me  a  black  spot.  Was  it  a  man  ?  The  bi 
nocular  settled  that.  It  was  a  man,  and  he  was  lying 
on  a  sled,  asleep. 

But  for  me,  had  it  been  the  angel  Uriel,  I  could  not 
have  gone  to  him.  I  was  dead  with  sleep.  I  just  re 
member  having  sense  to  unroll  my  bag,  which  I  carried 
as  a  knapsack,  and  crawling  into  it,  and  then  I  was  at 
once  unconscious. 

How  long  I  slept  I  do  not  know,  but  it  must  have 
been  hours  :  that  I  knew  afterwards. 

When  I  awoke  I  did  not  know  where  I  was.  But  I 
heard  snoring.  The  bag  was  not  buttoned.  I  had 
beer  too  sleepy. 

I  pushed  my  head  out,  and  at  that  moment  a  man 
fell  heavily  to  the  ground  at  my  side.  He  had  fallen 
asleep  as  he  sat  watching  me. 

He  was  in  the  winter  costume  of  Northern  China — 
a  fur  cap,  a  fur  pea-jacket,  trousers  of  deerskin.  I  had 
seen  hundreds  of  such  traders  on  the  Baikal. 

It  was  Myself  —  my  Other  Self !  He  had  come  to 
meet  me  !  I  was  wholly  prepared  to  speak  to  him.  I 
cried  to  him  in  these  words : 


226  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 


I 


But  he  heard  nothing;  he  lay  like  a  log. 

I  shook  him.  I  rolled  him  over.  He  only  groaned 
in  his  sleep.  But  it  was  as  if  he  were  dead — only 
he  breathed.  Then  I  remembered  how  I  had  been 
sleeping !  I  remembered  how  stupidly  Jan  was  sleep 
ing! 

Could  it  be  ? — it  was — that  Jan's  other  self  was  three 
miles  south  of  us,  on  the  opposite  meridian ! 

And  I?  and  Kaolin?  Of  course  he  must  sleep  while 
I  waked ;  I  must  sleep  while  he  waked.  This  was  the 
basis  of  the  whole  journey. 

No  one  had  ever  thought  that  one  soul  could  carry 
on  two  bodies  at  the  same  time.  Of  course,  then,  we 
could  not  talk  to  each  other. 

All  we  could  do  was  to  write,  and  await  an  answer. 

I  wrote  in  my  best  handwriting,  in  Chinese,  this  note : 

"My  brother— nay,  myself ;  I  see  you  are  well.  My  name  is 
Frederic  Inglmm.  What  is  yours  ?  What  grief  that  we  cannot  hear 
each  other's  voices,  or  see  each  other's  eyes  ?" 

Then  I  crept  into  my  bag,  and  forced  myself  to  go 
to  sleep.  I  did  not  sleep  long.  When  I  woke  there 
was  a  note  in  my  hand,  which  said  : 


227 

"I  am  culled  Kan-schau.  My  rank  is  of  the  blue  button  of  the 
province  of  Fi.  I  am  the  government  inspector  of  furs.  May  your 
waking  be  joyful!" 

I  think  he  saw  the  situation,  and  poked  me  hard  as 
his  last  conscious  act.  But  this  made  no  difference.  I 
should  have  waked,  of  course,  as  soon  as  he  slept.  1 
had  with  me  Wells's  Smaller  Dictionary,  and  I  made 
out  most  of  what  he  wrote.  Then  I  bethought  me 
what  I  should  say.  What  did  I  want  to  say?  What 
do  you  ever  want  to  say  in  a  letter  ?  Of  course  he 
knew  what  I  was,  and  I  knew  what  he  was,  for  I  was 
he,  and  he  was  I.  So  far  there  was  no  need  to  write. 

As  for  the  inspection  of  furs,  I  cared  nothing  for 
that.  Nor  did  he  care,  I  think,  much  about  my  home- 
mission  work  in  District  K. 

It  seemed  a  pity  to  talk  politics.  As  to  fine  art,  I 
did  not  know  the  Chinese  words  for  "realistic,''  or 
u  Pre-Raphaelite." 

It  is  not  the  first  time  that,  having  an  opportunity 
to  address  a  friend,  I  found  that  I  had  very  little  to  say 
to  him. 

What  I  did  was  this — always  a  good  thing  to  do :  I 
opened  my  can  of  beef,  which  I  had  taken  from  Jan, 
and  placed  under  it  a  bit  of  hardtack.  I  wrote : 

"  Feed  yourself  from  my  stores.  Eat  of  rny  bread  and  meat.  If 
only  you  might  sit  with  my  family  at  my  table  !  But,  alas  !  our 
destiny  forbids." 

Then  I  crept  back  into  my  bag,  counted  ten  thousand, 
and  imagined  a  flock  of  sheep  jumping  over  a  wall,  un 
til  I  lost  myself  in  slumber. 

I  awoke  to  find  this  note : 


228  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"  1  am  made  new  by  your  bounty.  Eat  of  my  last  bird's-nest.  It 
is  indeed  life  to  death,  and  strength  to  faintness.  We  must  now  turn 
our  backs  on  each  other.  But  I  leave  a  guide  for  your  instruction." 

Dead  asleep  I  found  him,  but  this  message,  and  a 
Chinese  envelope  with  his  Chinese  address,  were  in  his 
hand. 

I  fastened  in  a  parcel  a  volume  of  my  essays,  a  small 
flask  of  cordial,  and  a  picture  alphabet  for  his  children. 
I  wrote  my  address  on  an  envelope,  and  on  the  parcel 
1  placed  a  card  with  this : 

"  FAREWELL. 

"We  shall  not  soon  meet  again.  'I  shall  rejoice  in  your  joy,  I 
shall  sorrow  in  your  sorrow.  Polly,  my  wife,  will  gladly  hear  of 
the  welfare  of  yours.  Farewell." 

I  left  it  in  his  hands,  but  as  I  did  so  that  horrid  drow 
siness  came  over  me.     I  fell ;  but  waked  to  find,  in  a 
sort  of  Pidgin-English,  this  billet  by  my  side.     I  was 
alone. 

II  By -by.     Top-notch  muchee  good  for  him  all  the  ways.     By-by. 
Two  Lapland  men  behind  this  Kan-schau.     Muchee-muchee,  him  go 
and  help  them.     By-by." 

Could  my  gold-chop  Chinese  be  as  bad  as  his  Eng 
lish?  The  prints  of  his  feet  in  the  snow  were  clear 
enough.  But  he  had  gone.  I  looked  at  the  sun,  which 
was  near  noon  when  I  left  Jan,  and  it  was  now  quite 
on  the  other  side  of  the  sky.  I  looked  at  my  watch, 
which  Bond  had  made  for  me,  for  safety's  sake  at  this 
point,  and  had  arranged  for  it  a  dial  of  twenty-four 
hours.  It  was  half-past  twenty-three  o'clock.  Poor 


229 

Jan  had  been  asleep  twelve  hours,  or  had  waked  to 
find  me  gone. 

I  retraced  my  own  steps,  and  found  him  just  rous 
ing.  I  knew  one  of  Kan-schau's  Laplanders  was  going 
to  sleep  at  the  same  moment. 

Jan  never  knew  how  long  lie  slept.  In  three  hours 
more  we  had  joined  Plans,  and  with  two  snow-rabbits 
which  he  had  knocked  over,  and  a  few  specimens  of 
Grassus  inequalis  which  he  had  killed  for  the  dogs, 
•we  all  feasted.  We  all  slept  twelve  hours.  I  suppose 
Kan-schau  was  making  a  long  pull  home. 

I  have  never  seen  him  again. 


A  NEW  ARABIAN   NIGHT 

THE  President  of  the  United  States  could  not  sleep. 

He  had  been  in  bed  an  hour.  He  had  calculated  the 
interest  on  the  national  debt  at  three  per  cent.,  at  three 
and  a  half,  and  at  four  per  cent.,  and  still  he  could  not 
sleep.  He  had  estimated  a  payment  of  $9,000,000  a 
month  for  one  year,  $10,000,000  a  month  the  next  year, 
and  so  on,  and  when  it  would  all  be  paid. 

And  still  he  could  not  sleep.  The  truth  was  that 
the  President  had  spent  the  afternoon  at  the  reception 
of  Mr.  Jaffrey,  who  was  then  the  Secretary  of  State. 
Mr.  Jaffrey  had  four  handsome  daughters,  to  be  re 
membered  among  the  finest  women  in  the  world.  The 
President  and  Miss  Gertrude  were  on  the  pleasantest 
terms.  He  sat  by  her  an  hour  as  she  presided  at  the 
coffee-urn,  and  without  so  much  as  thinking  of  it  he 
drank  a  great  deal  more  coffee  than  was  good  for  him, 
or,  at  the  least,  for  his  sleeping  faculty. 

So  it  was  that  he  lay  awake.  He  thought  it  was  his 
anxiety  about  the  interoceanic  canal.  It  was  not.  It 
was  Miss  Gertrude's  coffee. 

The  President  pulled  out  his  repeater  and  struck  it. 

One  and  two  quarters. 

He  lay  calculating  the  national  debt,  as  he  thought, 
for  about  ten  hours.  Then  he  struck  the  repeater 
again. 


A    NEW   ARABIAN   NIGHT  231 

One  and  three  quarters. 

He  calculated  more.  He  calculated,  at  compound 
interest,  four  and  a  quarter  a  year,  how  large  a  sink 
ing-fund  would  pay  it  if  Thus  and  So. 

He  struck  his  repeater  again,  after  what  he  thought 
eleven  hours. 

Two  o'clock. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  said  the  President.  "  I  will  do 
as  Aaron  the  Wise  would  have  done."  He  tumbled 
out  of  bed,  he  lighted  the  gas,  he  began  to  dress,  and 
rang  for  his  valet,  who  was  a  black  man  from  a  Caro 
lina  plantation,  named  Mesrour. 

"  Mesrour,  go  across  the  square  to  Mr.  Jaffrey's,  and 
say  I  want  to  see  him." 

"Yes,  sare,"  said  Mesrour,  who  was  surprised,  but 
pretended  to  be  surprised  at  nothing. 

Mr.  Jaffrey  also  was  surprised.  But  he  also,  like  a 
loyal  and  well-bred  diplomatist,  pretended  to  be  sur 
prised  at  nothing. 

"Jaffrey,"  said  the  President,  as  he  met  him  under 
the  great  porch  of  the  White  House,  "it  is  pleasanter 
out-doors  than  in.  I  cannot  sleep,  and  I  have  called 
you  that  we  may  go  to  walk  together,  and  see  how  my 
people  live." 

"  I  hear  and  I  obey,"  said  Jaffrey,  pretending  to  laugh, 
but  thinking  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  there  were 
disadvantages  in  being  the  recipient  of  Executive  fa 
vors. 

"You  see,  Jaffrey,  I  have  not  many  subjects.  In 
Virginia  yonder  they  are  the  Governor's  subjects,  and 
in  Baltimore  yonder  it  is  the  same,  with  another  Gov 
ernor.  Only  the  people  of  this  city,  and  the  red-skins 


232  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

and  those  who  skin  them  in  the  Territories,  who  are 
my  real  subjects.  And  of  these  here  I  do  not  know 
how  they  live.  Let  us  go  and  see.  Will  not  that  be  a 
good  thing  to  do?  Perhaps  there  are  reforms  needed. 
Perhaps  I  may  send  a  special  message  to  the  House. 
Or  the  Commissioners  of  the  District  would  take  a  hint 
from  me—  eh,  Jaffrey  ?" 

Jaffrey  tried  to  rise  to  the  occasion.  He  saw  that 
the  President  was  in  earnest,  and  really  wanted  to  do 
the  right  thing.  For  him,  he  had  been  happily  in  bed, 
and  he  wished  he  were  there  still.  But  he  and  the 
President  had  gone  through  too  many  campaigns  to 
gether  in  the  field  and  in  the  caucus  for  him  to  flinch 
now.  He  knew  and  he  respected  this  tender  spot  in 
the  President's  heart,  and  if  an  hour's  tramping  up 
and  down  the  Avenue  would  help  him,  why,  Jaffrey 
was  not  the  man  to  say  no. 

"No,  Mesrour,  you  need  not  go,"  said  the  President 
to  the  faithful  negro,  who  followed  them  out  into  the 
night,  as  he  would  have  followed  his  master  under  a 
shower  of  fire,  unless  he  had  been  sent  back. 

So  the  two  walked  down  the  Avenue  towards  the 
Capitol. 

And  the  poor  President  was  disappointed.  There 
was  a  moon.  The  shadows  were  picturesque.  But  it 
was  all  commonplace,  Western,  and  dull.  He  had 
hoped  — well,  after  midnight,  you  know,  alone  and 
on  foot,  you  know-  But  things  would  not  look 
strange. 

The  grog-shops  were  all  shut.  Even  at  Willard's 
there  was  hardly  a  light.  Hardly  a  hell  in  the  second 
story  had  a  light  in  the  windows. 


A    NEW    ARABIAN    NIGHT  233 

"  Jaffrey,"  he  said,  rather  sadly,  for  he  was  disap 
pointed,  "  were  you  ever  in  Bagdad  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  when  I  was  minister  to  Persia,  you  know. 
The  Secretary  sent  me  word  about  some  excavations- 
Mosul,  Nineveh,  or  somewhere— and  I  went  down  to 
Bagdad." 

"  And  is  Bagdad  like  Washington,  Jaffrey  ?  Is  the 
street— the  main  street,  you  know— quite  as  well  lighted 
and  quite  as  dead  after  midnight,  or  are  there— well, 
are  there  dervishes  and  nautch-girls  and  calenders  ?" 

"What  is  a  calender?"  said  Jaffrey.  "There  was  a 
calender  in  'John  Gilpin,'  but  I  never  knew  what  he 
was  or  did." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  President,  "  no  more  nor  the  dead, 
as  my  excellent  Mesrour  would  say.  But,  Jaffrey,  look 
yonder.  What  is  that?  That  is  not  commonplace." 

And  he  pointed  down  one  of  those  dirty  streets  to 
the  south  of  the  Avenue,  which  no  one  by  any  acci 
dent  goes  into  if  he  can  help  himself,  where  was  a  tall 
column  of  yellow  fire.  "  There  is  an  adventure,"  said 
the  bebored  and  ennuye  President.  "Let  us  go  and 
see." 

Mr.  Jaffrey  also  was  curious.  He  thought  he  knew 
Washington,  and  he  knew  that  there  was  no  foundery 
in  those  regions.  When  they  came  near  the  spot  it 
seemed  more  mysterious  than  ever.  The  flames  rose 
behind  a  high  brick  wall.  In  front  of  this  a  modest 
brick  house,  of  the  kind  which  ambitious  speculators 
built  seventy  years  ago,  before  men  knew  which  was  to 
be  the  court  end  of  Washington,  was  brilliantly  lighted. 
A  duet  of  a  p'iano  and  violin  was  heard  from  within. 

The  President  bade  Jaffrey  ring,  and  he  did  so. 


234  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"  I  have  a  desire  to  enter  this  house,"  said  the  Presi 
dent,  "  and  to  see  who  is  giving  this  concert." 

"  They  are  a  party  who  have  become  intoxicated," 
replied  Jaffrey,  "  and  I  fear  that  we  may  experience  ill 
usage." 

"  I  must  enter,"  said  the  President,  "  and  you  must 
devise  some  stratagem  by  which  we  can  obtain  admis 
sion." 

"  I  hear  and  I  obey,"  said  Jaffrey,  laughing  as  before ; 
and  at  that  moment  a  neatly  dressed  negro  girl  opened 
the  door. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  courtly  Jaffrey,  "  we  are  two 
merchants  from  St.  Louis,  who  have  been  in  Washing 
ton  some  days.  A  merchant  here  invited  us  to  an  en 
tertainment  to-night,  and  we  went  to  his  house.  We 
ate  and  drank  with  him  till  it  was  time  to  depart,  and 
going  out  into  the  night  we  have  missed  our  way  to 
the  hotel,  and  we  do  not  know  its  name.  We  trust, 
therefore,  in  your  generosity  that  you  will  admit  us  to 
pass  the  rest  of  the  night  in  your  house.  By  doing  this 
you  will  obtain  a  reward  in  heaven." 

The  girl  ran  back,  evidently  consulted  with  her  mis 
tress,  and  then  opened  the  inner  door,  and  said,  "Come 
in."  The  President  entered,  therefore,  with  Jaffrey. 
They  left  their  hats  where  they  were  bidden,  and  passed 
into  the  concert-room.  The  performance  went  on  as 
if  they  had  not  been  seen.  But  as  soon  as  the  sonata 
ended,  the  party  present  arose,  and  a  lady  said  : 

"  Welcome  are  our  guests ;  but  we  have  a  condition 
to  impose  upon  you,  that  ye  speak  not  of  that  which 
doth  not  concern  you,  lest  ye  hear  that  which  will  not 
please  you." 


A   NEW   ARABIAN    NIGHT  235 

They  answered,  "  Good,"  and  from  that  moment  they 
were  treated  as  if  they  had  always  been  companions  of 
their  hosts. 

In  the  next  moment  a  black  butler  threw  open  the 
large  door  which  parted  them  from  a  dining-room,  and 
said,  "  Supper  is  served,  madam." 

The  company  went  in  in  form,  the  President  and 
Jaffrey  making  the  last  two  of  the  long  procession. 

The  President  took  his  seat  rather  timidly,  the  more 
so  that  Mr.  Jaffrey  was  taken  quite  to  the  other  end  of 
the  other  side  of  the  table.  There  were  flowers  ar 
ranged  in  high  vases,  so  that  he  could  not  so  much  as 
see  his  faithful  companion.  He  was  received  with 
more  display  of  courtesy  than  would  have  been  shown 
were  this  an  ordinary  boarding-house,  but  certainly 
with  less  interest  in  his  personality  than  if,  when  he 
was  Secretary  of  State,  he  had  presented  himself  as  a 
guest  at  the  English  minister's.  On  one  side  a  lady 
sat,  on  the  other  a  large  man — "gentleman,"  the  Pres 
ident  would  have  said,  had  he  met  him  in  a  legislative 
assembly.  The  gentleman  seemed  to  present  the  Presi 
dent  to  the  lady  as  he  sat  down.  But  if  he  did,  the 
President  was  none  the  wiser. 

The  table  was  elegantly  furnished  and  decorated. 
The  President  fell  into  talk  with  the  gentleman  by  him. 
In  a  little  the  lady  opposite  spoke  to  that  gentleman. 
The  talk  was  on  some  matter  of  detail  as  to  what  would 
turn  up  the  next  day  in  the  Senate,  whether  it  were 
best  that  the  ladies  should  take  some  friends  to  the 
gallery.  It  happened  that  the  President  knew  the 
order  of  business,  and  he  gave  the  information  needed, 


236  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

and  so,  without  formality,  he  soon  found  himself  in 
conversation  with  the  others,  and  recognized  as  if  he 
were  a  familiar  member  of  their  company. 

One  seat  was  still  vacant  at  the  end  of  the  table, 
and  one  nearly  opposite  the  President.  But  this  was 
not  for  many  minutes.  Before  the  next  remove  two 
young  men  came  in,  looking  a  little  flushed  in  the 
face,  but  perhaps  even  more  carefully  dressed  than  any 
one  else ;  although,  as  the  President  had  observed, 
with  some  little  annoyance,  every  one,  excepting  him 
self  and  Mr.  Jaifrey,  was  in  full  evening  dress.  When 
these  two  young  men  came  in  they  were  greeted  by  a 
cordial  hand-clapping,  which  ran  all  around  the  board. 
They  smiled  and  bowed,  but  said  nothing,  and  applied 
themselves  one  to  his  fillet  of  beef  and  one  to  his  roast 
capon. 

So  soon,  however,  as  this  course  was  removed,  in 
the  little  lull  while  the  servants  were  changing  the 
plates  and  rearranging  the  table,  the  lady  who  sat  at 
the  head,  far  away  from  the  President,  struck  her  glass 
with  her  knife,  and  thus  secured  absolute  silence.  "  We 
will  hear  the  report,"  she  said.  And  all  cried,  "  Hear! 
hear!" 

The  young  man  with  light  hair  rose  to  his  feet, 
seemed  embarrassed,  but  read  from  a  slip  of  paper, 
"  Nine  ounces  silver,  four  ounces  nickel,  two  pounds 
seven  ounces  and  a  half  copper." 

The  announcement  was  received  with  new  hand- 
clapping.  Then  the  other,  who  had  black  hair,  rose 
and  said,  "  One  ounce  seven  pennyweights  gold,"  and 
the  applause  was  renewed.  But  nothing  more  was 
said.  The  servants  brought  round  the  next  course, 


A   NEW    ARABIAN    NIGHT  237 

and  the  dozen  streams  of  broken  conversation  began 
to  flow  again.  As  for  the  President,  he  was  a  good 
deal  troubled.  Where  was  he,  and  what  was  this  re 
port?  Were  these  people  debasers  of  the  currency? 
Was  he  sharing  the  food  of  a  lot  of  people  virtually 
counterfeiters?  He  shuddered  as  he  remembered  the 
denunciations  in  the  last  report  of  the  Mint  Master, 
who  had  been  bitter  in  his  protests  as  to  the  quantity 
of  degraded  money  which  came  in  to  him. 

But  the  President  was  wary.  He  showed  no  fear. 
He  did  let  his  fork  fall  upon  the  table,  so  as  to  judge 
for  himself  by  the  ring  whether  it  were  silver  or  al- 
bata,  Silver  unmistakably!  With  the  indifferent  tone 
of  an  old  diplomat,  he  said  to  the  lady  by  him : 

" I  am  very  stupid.  Am  I  growing  deaf?  I  did  not 
understand  where  all  this  bullion  came  from." 

"  Not  understand  ?  Why,  it  came  from  the  straw,  of 
course.1' 

"  Straw  ?"  said  the  President — "  what  straw  ?" 

"Why,  where  do  you  suppose  you  are?"  said  she, 
amazed  in  her  turn. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  at  an  elegant  dinner-party,  by  the 
side  of  a  very  charming  lady." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  she ;  "  certainly  she  is  by  the 
side  of  a  very  flattering  gentleman.  But,  pardon  me, 
I  do  not  know  what  countryman  you  are.  I  do  not 
recognize  your  patois.  Still,  it  is  not  in  many  coun 
tries  that  a  table  like  this — what  shall  I  say  ?— grows 
on  every  tree.  That  is  a  bad  metaphor."  And  she 
laughed  very  prettily. 

"  Certainly  not  in  any  country  I  have  visited,"  said 
the  President. 


238  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"  And  certainly  the  club  here,  the  ladies  and  gentle 
men  around  us,  would  not  expect  the  lady  president 
yonder  to  furnish  it  for  them  every  night." 

The  President  started  when  he  heard  the  lady  presi 
dent  spoken  of.  But  he  saw  in  a  moment  that  he  need 
not  be  afraid. 

"Of  course,  then,"  she  continued,  "  it  would  not  be  a 
club.  It  is  a  club — well,  because  the  suppers  come 
from  the  straw." 

"What  straw?''  said  the  President  again,  somewhat 
stupidly. 

"  Why,  what  straw  is  full  of  gold  and  silver  and 
nickel  and  copper  ?  Do  you  not  know  ?  Why,  indeed, 
did  you  come?  The  only  straw  which  yields  such 
returns  as  they  have  reported  is  the  straw  from  the 
street-cars.  Our  friend  here  contracts  to  furnish  clean 
straw  every  morning,  and  her  people  clean  out  the  cars 
at  midnight.  Valentine  and  Asa  yonder  are  the  smelt 
ers.  They  graduated  at  the  Argo  Works  in  Colorado. 
The  club  lives  on  the  products.  Why,  if  they  had 
reported  only  two  ounces  copper,  seven  ounces  nickel — 
voildtout! — we  should  have  had  short  commons  to 
morrow  night — a  fish-ball  and  a  cracker  and  a  glass 
of  water  each.  But  if  a  traveller  like  you  knows  what 
gold  is  worth,  you  see  we  shall  not  starve — at  least,  for 
twenty-four  hours." 

The  President  felt  as  if  he  had  already  been  repaid 
for  his  adventure,  and  understood  better  than  before 
what  became  of  the  national  currency. 

But  he  tried  to  conceal  any  annoyance,  and  indeed 
he  unbent  to  the  Bohemian  carelessness  of  the  occa 
sion  more  than  he  had  done,  poor  man,  since  he  was 


A   NEW    ARABIAN    NIGHT  239 

at  an  Alpha  Delta  supper  in  New  Padua.  Once  and 
again  he  led  up  to  talk  which  he  thought  would  show 
who  his  neighbors  were.  But,  ah  me !  though  he  was 
an  old  diplomat,  these  people  were  too  much  for  him. 
He  had  wormed  secrets  out  of  Bismarck  in  Berlin ;  he 
had  been  more  than  a  match,  in  his  Western  frankness, 
for  Clemenceau;  and  Sagasta  had  told  him  secrets 
which  he  never  told  to  any  other  man.  But  the  woman 
at  his  right  and  the  man  at  his  left  told  him  no  secrets, 
and  at  the  end  of  two  hours  the  President  did  not 
know  whether  they  knew  who  he  was,  and  he  did 
know  very  well  that  he  did  not  know  who  they  were. 
It  was  more  than  two  hours,  it  was  nearly  three,  when 
the  Queen  of  the  Feast  clapped  her  hands  and  pointed 
to  a  gentleman  who  had  sung  one  or  two  merry  songs 
before.  At  the  signal  he  began  to  sing  "  We  won't 
go  home  till  morning,"  and  the  whole  company  joined 
in  the  chorus.  With  the  last  words,  the  stately  butler 
flung  up  the  heavy  curtains  of  the  one  window,  and  lo ! 
in  the  east  the  first  streak  of  dawn.  In  less  than  two 
minutes  the  President  and  Jaffrey  found  themselves  on 
the  sidewalk  walking  up  the  Avenue. 

As  they  walked  home  the  President  was  silent  till 
they  came  to  Fourteenth  Street,  and  Mr.  Jaffrey,  if 
possible,  was  more  silent.  But  as  they  turned  in  at 
that  side-gate  by  which  you  go  up  to  the  White  House, 
the  President  said  to  the  Secretary  : 

"  Jaffrey,  this  is  very  mysterious." 

u  Yes,  it  is  very  mysterious,"  said  the  other. 

"  We  cannot  have  such  things  right  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Capitol  without  inquiry."  And  the  President 


240  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

spoke  with  a  certain  firmness  of  tone  which  terrified 
his  Secretary.  For  Mr.  Jaffrey  knew  very  well  that 
when  he  spoke  in  that  tone  he  was  immovable.  In 
truth,  it  was  the  power  to  speak  in  that  tone  which 
had  made  him  President. 

Mr.  Jaffrey  thought,  indeed,  that  any  inquiry  into 
the  proceedings  of  a  horde  of  Bohemians  would  be 
absurd.  It  would  be  sure  to  get  into  the  papers,  and 
there  was  no  saying  where  it  might  end.  But  he  knew 
the  President's  tone,  so  he  made  no  opposition.  But 
he  said :  "  Yes,  indeed,  there  must  be  an  inquiry.  I 
will  send  a  note  to  the  Commissioners  of  the  District." 

"  Fiddle-stick !"  said  the  President.  "  Commissioners 
of  the  Town  Pump !  I  shall  make  the  inquiry  myself." 

"  Make  it  yourself !"  said  Mr.  Jaffrey,  startled  out  of 
his  usual  tact.  "  But  you  have  no  authority  in  this 
District.  You  are  not  even  a  Justice  of  the  Quorum." 

"Quorum  be  hanged!"  said  the  President.  "  I  shall 
make  the  inquiry."  And  Mr.  Jaffrey  knew  he  had  lost 
the  point  by  the  suddenness  of  his  ejaculation.  The 
President  at  once  thanked  him  for  his  good  company, 
and  said,  "  I  think  I  shall  sleep  now." 

Poor  Mr.  Jaffrey  went  home  quite  sure  that  he 
should  sleep  now. 

The  next  morning  the  President  sent  over  to  the 
librarv  of  the  Department  of  State,  and  bade  them  send 
him  the  Arabian  Nights.  Then,  while  the  office-seekers 
were  kept  at  bay  by  his  private  secretaries,  the  Presi 
dent  lighted  a  cigar,  and  found  what  the  Caliph  Haroun- 
al-Raschid  would  have  done  in  the  same  circumstances. 
He  varied  the  detail  so  as  to  fit  the  civilization  of  the 
nineteenth  century  and  the  longitude  of  Washington. 


A    NEW    ARABIAN    NIGHT  241 

He  struck  the  bell,  saw  the  steward,  and  ordered  a 
specially  nice  lunch  at  two  o'clock  for  about  four-and- 
twenty  people.  Then  with  his  own  hand,  on  gilt- 
edged  note-paper,  he  wrote  an  invitation  which  said 
that  the  President  of  the  United  States  invited  to 
lunch  that  day  the  lady  of  the  house  where  he  had 
supped  last  night,  and  all  her  guests. 

"  There,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  sent  off  the  note 
by  his  private  messenger;  "let  us  see  how  much  power 
that  has,  though  I  am  not  a  Justice  of  the  Quorum." 
Then  he  sent  a  message  to  Mr.  Jaffrey  that  he  must 
come  to  lunch,  and  gave  the  next  three  hours  to  the 
office-seekers. 

But  at  two  o'clock  the  office-seekers  had  all  gone, 
and  the  President  was  in  that  pretty  oval  room  which 
so  often  changes  its  name  and  its  furniture  at  the 
White  House,  waiting  for  his  guests.  Nor  did  he  have 
to  wait  long.  A  series  of  coupes  and  other  carriages 
drove  up  under  the  porte-cochere,  and  twenty-four  ladies 
and  gentlemen  were  shown  in  by  the  ceremonious 
butler.  The  President  recognized  at  once  his  courteous 
hostess  of  last  night.  She  made  her  apologies  very 
simply  for  those  of  the  company  who  had  been  called 
out  of  town.  In  a  moment  more,  lunch  was  announced. 
She  took  the  President's  arm ;  Mr.  Jaffrey  gave  his  to 
another  lady  who  had  come  in  the  same  carriage  with 
her,  and  the  rest  followed,  much  at  their  own  sweet 
will.  The  talk  at  table  was  quite  as  gay  as  it  had 
been  the  night  before.  But  the  President  had  a  better 
chance  than  the  night  before  to  talk  with  his  very 
agreeable  companion. 

When  at  last  they  were  playing  with  their  iced  fruits, 

10 


242  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND   OTHEES 

the  President  spoke  a  little  louder  than  he  had  done,  so 
that  all  other  conversation  was  hushed.  He  said  :  "  La 
dies  and  gentlemen,  I  was  very  much  interested  in  your 
club  last  night,  and  greatly  enjoyed  your  hospitality. 
My  curiosity  was  excited,  but  I  was  not  so  rude  as  to 
ask  questions  of  my  hosts.  My  morning  sleep  has  not 
allayed  it,  and,  as  you  see,  I  am  now  fortunate  enough 
to  reverse  our  positions.  A  host  may  ask  questions 
where  a  guest  must  be  silent."  Then  he  laughed.  "  I 
shall  question  you  now." 

"As  you  please,"  said  the  lady;  and,  as  it  happened, 
all  the  others  said,  "  As  you  please." 

Then  Mr.  Jaffrey  remembered  how  he  had  told  the 
President  that  he  could  not  make  any  inquiry,  and  here 
was  the  inquiry  half  over. 

"  All  my  life  long,"  said  the  President,  "since  I  read 
the  Arabian  Nights  and  'John  Gilpin,'  I  have  wanted 
to  know  what  a  calender  was.  Am  I  right  in  thinking 
that  some  of  you  are  calenders  ?" 

With  one  voice,  even  to  Mr.  Jaffrey's  surprise,  all  the 
twenty-four  answered,  "  We  are  all  calenders." 

"  The  wish  of  my  heart  is  answered,"  said  the  Presi 
dent. 

"Easily  gratified,  Mr.  President,"  said  the  first  of  his 
guests. 

"I  will  gladly  tell  you  what  are  my  functions  as  a 
calender,"  said  a  gentleman  near  him. 

THE  STOKY  OF  THE  FIRST  CALENDER 

"  A  calender  is  defined  by  Mr.  Lane  as  *  a  royal  mendi 
cant.'  We  are  all  royal,  because  we  are  born  from  the 
sovereign  people.  We  are  all  mendicants,  because  we 


A    NEW    ARABIAN    NIGHT  243 

live  by  our  wits  on  the  work  of  the  industrious.  My 
business  and  that  of  my  wife  is  to  stretch  new  boots  for 
millionaires.  They  send  to  us  their  boots  as  they  come 
from  the  makers.  We  walk  in  them  a  few  clays,  till 
that  horrid  new  look  is  gone,  and  then  we  send  them 
to  our  patrons.  It  is  not  the  easiest  way  to  earn  one's 
living,  but  it  does  not  involve  the  hardest  toil.  The  busi 
ness  grows  upon  our  hands,  or,  I  should  say,  on  our  feet, 
and  we  are  bringing  up  to  it  our  sons  and  daughters." 
Then  the  Bohemian  opposite  told  his  story. 

THE    STORY    OF    THE    THIRD  *    CALENDER 

"  My  business  is  to  write  autographs  for  collectors. 
My  sons  are  both  dressed  neatly  in  the  uniform  of  pages 
at  the  Capitol.  Every  one  in  the  House  end  of  the 
building  thinks  Gustavus  is  a  Senate  page ;  every  one 
at  the  Senate  end  thinks  Horace  is  a  House  page.  They 
are  pretty  boys,  and,  for  a  dollar,  either  will  take  the 
autograph-book  of  any  travelling  fanatic  and  have  it 
filled  the  same  day  with  distinguished  names.  If  you 
have  little  poems  written  you  must  pay  two  dollars.  I 
sit  down-stairs  in  the  committee-room  of  the  '  Commit 
tee  on  Cross-purposes.'  It  is  very  seldom  that  any  one 
comes  in.  If  he  does,  he  thinks  I  am  private  secretary 
to  somebody  else.  My  boys'  books  are  filled  much 
faster  than  any  of  the  other  pages',  so  that  we  are  very 
popular.  Frankly,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  I  cannot  often 
attend  a  party  like  this,  for  these  are  our  best  hours, 
and  each  hour  of  them  is  worth  ten  dollars." 

*  For  reasons  only  known  to  the  elect,  the  story  of  the  Second  Cal 
ender  is  untold  in  correct  editions  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 


244  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

THE  FOURTH  CALENDER'S  STORY 

"  This  is  an  off  week  with  me.  There  are  six  of  us 
in  all ;  three  work  one  week,  and  three  another.  I  and 
ray  two  friends" — and  two  stout  gentlemen  bowed  as 
he  waved  his  hand  —  "run  an  elevator  on  the  Sixth 
Avenue  in  New  York.  It  takes  belated  travellers  up 
to  the  Died  rich  Street  station  of  the  elevated  road.  The 
contrivance  is  simple— two  scales,  one  at  the  top,  one 
at  the  bottom,  connected  by  ropes  which  pass  over  pul 
leys.  I  and  my  friends  weigh  more  than  six  hundred  ; 
the  average  passenger  weighs  only  a  hundred  and  fifty. 
When  from  above  we  see  three  people  on  the  lower 
scale,  we  leap  upon  the  upper,  and  it  goes  down  at 
once.  Then  we  run  up-stairs  as  quickly  as  we  can, 
leaving,  however,  number  three  to  take  the  money, 
while  he  who  did  take  it  becomes  number  one,  and 
goes  up  with  us.  As  you  see,  Mr.  President,  we  have 
to  run  up-stairs  all  the  time  for  a  week,  always  going 
down  on  the  elevator.  It  is  a  very  fatiguing  occupa 
tion,  but  it  is  very  lucrative,  and  so  we  are  able  to  lie 
off  half  the  time." 

All  this  time  Mr.  Jaffrey  was  looking  straight  at  the 
lady  opposite  him,  and  pretending  not  to  know  her. 
But  now  it  was  her  turn,  and  she  said : 

STORY    OF    ANOTHER    CALENDER 

"  My  business  is  to  return  calls  for  the  wives  of  Sen 
ators  and  Secretaries.  I  make  Mrs.  Jaffrey's  calls  every 
Thursday.  I  do  not  know  what  she  does  that  morning 
after  ten  o'clock.  I  go  to  her  house  then  with  a  visi 
ble  pair  of  curling-irons.  But  when  I  go  down-stairs  I 


A   NEW    ARABIAN    NIGHT  245 

hide  them  in  a  muff,  and  have  her  card-case  and  her 
list.  Then  the  coachman  drives  me  up  and  down  the 
different  streets,  and  I  leave  her  cards  for  her.  I  can 
do  it  quite  as  accurately  as  she  does,  and  sometimes  I 
think  I  do  it  better.  As  for  my  husband  here— 

"Stop!  stop!"  cried  Mr.  Jaffrey ;  for  he  was  afraid 
she  was  going  to  say  that  the  husband  made  his  calls 
for  him. 

Then,  amid  general  laughter,  they  heard 

THE    STORY    OF   THE    LAST    CALENDER 

"  My  business,"  he  said,  in  rather  a  foreign  accent, 
"is  to  provide  what  we  call  Dromios;  you  say  substi 
tutes.  On  the  regulation  list  of  Adams,  Allison,  Amos, 
Anderson,  Andrews,  as  you  hear  it  called  in  the  House, 
when  the  yeas  and  nays  are  ordered,  there  are  many 
gentlemen  who  would  like  to  do  something  else,  if  only 
the  press  were  not  after  them  in  their  absences.  For 
two  dollars  a  day  we  provide  substitutes  for  them,  well 
got  up.  For  three  dollars  we  give  a  man  who  will  frank 
the  documents." 

"  How  much  a  day  if  he  draws  the  checks  ?"  said  Mr. 
Jaff  rev,  laughing.  But  the  President  hushed  him  down. 
He  was  now  intensely  interested.  He  heard  this  calen 
der's  story  to  the  end.  When  Mesrour  came  in  the  mo 
ment  after  with  a  message,  the  President  pretended 
there  was  an  important  despatch.  Of  course  the  party 
melted  away.  Only  the  President  kept  Mr.  Jaffrey  and 
this  last  calender. 

When  they  were  quite  alone,  he  said  to  the  calender, 
"  Have  you  —  have  you  —  could  you  find  a  man  who 
would— who  would  personate  me?" 


246 


SUSAN  S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 


"  Of  course,  Eccellenza,"  said  the  Italian.  "  Our  Mr. 
Jones  did  you  last  night  at  some  private  theatricals  in 
Baltimore.  He  is  as  like  as  the  figure  yonder."  And 
he  pointed  to  the  mirror. 

"  Jaffrey,"  said  the  President,  "you  know  I  am  dead 
sick  of  all  this.  If  I  could  have  a  change !  The  thing 
will  kill  me  if  I  cannot  run  away  before  the  session 
ends/' 

Jaffrey  was  beside  himself  with  alarm.  But  it  was 
just  like  last  night.  The  President  had  the  bit  in  his 
teeth  again. 

"  Six  long  weeks  before  the  adjournment.  I  might 
have  a  month  shooting  buffaloes  in  Manitoba,  and  leave 
this  man  here.  Jaffrey,  dear  fellow,  let  me  go !" 

Jaffrey  remonstrated.  He  took  the  President  into  a 
corner,  and  pleaded  with  him.  But  you  might  as  well 
plead  with  a  northeast  wind. 

"  Jaffrey,  I  will  go.  That  is  all."  Then  turning  to 
the  Italian,  and  speaking  in  his  choicest  Tuscan,  he  said  : 
"  Domani,  saro  eternamente  obbligato,"  and  the  man 
withdrew.  Again  Mr.  Jaffrey  begged  and  begged.  But 
the  President  was  like  iron. 

And  the  next  day  the  man  came  with  the  simulated 
President.  The  real  President  was  startled  himself— 
Jaffrey  was  more  startled — when  the  creature  threw 
off  the  mackintosh  which  disguised  him.  Once  and 
again  he  and  the  President  even  deceived  the  wary 
Secretary,  alert  though  he  was,  by  changing  places 
when  he  was  talking  to  the  Italian.  The  President's 
madness  was  complete.  This  man  should  not  leave  the 
private  office.  He  would  leave  it  himself.  He  called 


A   NEW   ARABIAN    NIGHT  247 

Mesrour.  It  proved  that  his  carpet-bag  was  ready  pack 
ed.  He  covered  himself  with  the  stranger's  water-proof, 
and  he  and  Mesrour  went  to  the  B.  and  O.  station,  leav 
ing  poor  Jaffrey  in  agony  with  the  other. 

But  things  did  not  work  so  badly,  after  all.  The  new 
incumbent  was  very  teachable.  Fortunately  a  great 
general  died,  and  all  public  receptions  were  given  up. 
Then  it  was  said  that  the  President  had  a  cold,  and 
could  not  be  abroad.  Then  he  did  go  abroad,  and  to 
every  one's  amazement  developed  a  very  marked  passion 
for  driving  four-in-hand.  At  last,  on  the  Fourth  of  July, 
there  had  to  be  a  levee.  The  President  said  one  or  two 
queer  things,  but  the  court  journals  said  the  reports  of 
them  were  all  lies.  On  the  whole,  Mr.  Jaffrey 's  times 
were  not  so  hard  as  he  feared — by  no  means  so  hard  as 
when  his  chief  was  at  home.  For  many  days  he  had 
a  despatch  from  a  Mr.  Thompson  at  the  Northwest : 
u  All  well."  "  O.  K."  "  Quite  right/'  At  last  these 
stopped ;  and  then  Jaffrey  knew  that  his  friend  was  in 
Manitoba  slaughtering  the  few  remaining  buffaloes. 
But  the  lull  in  despatches  was  longer  than  he  liked. 
Mr.  Jaffrey  began  to  be  uneasy,  when,  late  one  night, 
the  door-bell  rang,  and  Mesrour  appeared!  His  story, 
alas !  even  with  all  his  reiterations,  was  a  very  short 
one. 

All  had  gone  well  as  far  as  the  Butte  a  Carcajou. 
Then  they  crossed  to  the  Dog  Knoll.  Jaffrey  verified 
these  names  afterwards.  They  forded  the  White  Sand 
River  in  a  torrent  of  rain.  Then  Mesrour's  story  was 
unintelligible,  until,  after  they  had  crossed  Bar  River 
three  times  on  one  accursed  morning,  they  came  too 
suddenly  on  a  herd  of  buffalo.  The  beasts  did  not  flee, 


248  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

as  they  were  meant  to  do;  they  turned  and  charged 
the  little  hunting-party.  The  Presfdent  was  the  last 
to  turn  his  horse;  the  poor  creature  stumbled,  fell  upon 
his  master — and,  on  the  instant,  five  hundred  buffaloes 
passed  over  them ! 

A  wretched  rag  from  his  coat  and  a  few  fragments 
of  letters,  with  what  was  left  of  a  gold  repeater,  were 
all  which  Mesrour  could  bring  to  verify  his  tale. 

The  body  had  been  buried  where  it  fell. 

Mr.  Jaffrey  retired  for  an  hour,  leaving  poor  Mes 
rour  asleep  on  a  lounge  in  the  reception-room.  Then 
he  came  and  waked  the  faithful  negro. 

"  Not  one  word  of  this  to  any  man." 

"  Nevare,  massa !" 

"  Nor  woman !" 

"  No !  nor  woman,  massa." 

"  Go  back  to  your  duty  at  the  White  House  to-night. 
Say  you  have  been  west  on  a  private  message." 

That  is  what  Mesrour  did.  No  public  announcement 
of  the  President's  death  was  thought  necessary  by  the 
Secretary  of  State.  Times  were  prosperous.  As  al 
ways,  the  country  governed  itself  without  much  regard 
to  Washington.  The  incumbent  of  the  White  House 
confided  in  the  Secretary,  and  the  Secretary  confided 
in  the  incumbent  of  the  White  House. 

"And  so,"  said  Scheherezade,  as  she  finished  her  story 
— "  so  ended  the  tales  of  the  calenders.  But  this  is 
nothing  to  the  story  of  ;  Newspaper  Row,'  if  it  please 
your  Highness  graciously  to  lengthen  our  lives,  and  to 
hear  it  to-morrow  morning." 

But  this  was  the  end  of  the  Arabian  Nights'  Enter 
tainments  in  Washington. 


ONLY   A  FLY 

I. — THE    FLY 

MRS.  MITCHELL  was  a  good  housekeeper,  and  hospita 
ble.  She  was  so  good  a  housekeeper  that,  in  that  busi 
ness,  she  had  risen  to  the  highest  rank.  That  is  to  say, 
she  was  not  hospitable  to  flies.  Housekeepers  of  the 
second  rank  are  so  governed  by  a  chance  remark  of 
Uncle  Toby's  as  to  think  there  is  room  enough  in  their 
houses,  at  least  in  winter,  for  the  flies  and  for  all  other 
guests  also.  So  they  let  the  flies  go  into  one  cell  and 
another,  and  lay  the  eggs  which  will  make  the  next 
August  miserable  to  all.  Mrs.  Mitchell  had  risen  above 
this  form  of  hospitality,  and  her  house  had  no  room 
for  flies. 

So  after  she  had  bidden  Lawrence  good-bye,  instead 
of  returning  to  her  knitting  she  went  to  the  window 
to  catch  and  kill  a  large  fly  that  was  trying  to  pass 
through  it,  Lawrence  was  on  his  way  to  New  York. 
With  his  overcoat  on  one  arm,  and  his  umbrella  in  one 
hand,  with  a  rather  large  valise  in  the  other  hand,  he 
had  come  in  to  take  leave  of  his  grandmother.  He 
had  put  down  the  valise  that  he  might  kiss  her  better. 
She  had  risen  from  her  deep,  easy -chair  to  kiss  him. 
She  had  said : 

"  Do  not  work  too  hard,  dear  boy,  and  I  pray  God 
every  night  to  bless  you." 


250  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Good-bye,  grandmamma." 

"  Good-bye !" 

And  they  both  thought  it  was  all  over. 

But  it  was  not  all  over;  in  fact,  as  it  proved,  this 
was  the  beginning,  or  the  prologue  before  the  plav. 
For  when  Mrs.  Mitchell  went  to  the  window,  and 
struck  it  rather  hard  in  her  pursuit  of  the  fly— struck, 
indeed,  two  or  three  times— Lawrence,  who  was  rapidly 
passing  in  the  shrubbery  below,  thought  she  had  re 
membered  some  forgotten  commission,  and  was  tapping 
on  the  window  for  him  to  return.  So  he  set  down  the 
heavy  valise  on  the  ground,  ran  back  to  the  side  steps, 
ran  up  them  two  at  a  time,  ran  into  her  room,  and 
said  : 

"  Yes  !     What  is  it,  grandmamma  ?" 

"My  dear  boy,  there  is  nothing.  Oh,  you  thought  I 
called  you  ?  Oh  no,  I  am  sorry  you  came  back.  I 
was  only  catching  this  fly !"  And  she  showed  what 
was  left  of  it  on  a  napkin. 

Lawrence  laughed,  really  good-naturedly.  Of  course 
he  was*  tempted  to  do  something  else.  But  he  only 
laughed,  said  "  Good-bye"  again,  and  ran  down  the 
steps.  He  rescued  the  valise  from  the  care  of  an  old 
statue  of  the  god  Terminus,  who  was  watching  it,  and 
ran,  a  little  faster  than  before,  through  Billy  Kelley's 
alley.  Billy  Kelley's  alley  was  a  short  cut  by  which 
he  came  to  Yin  ton  Street,  which  took  him  to  the  elec 
tric  car.  He  had  not  been  late  for  this  car,  but  he  was 
not  early  for  it.  It  was  the  car  which  would  take  him 
to  the  northern  stations,  where  was  the  train  which 
connected  with  the  Cattaraugus  and  Opelousas,  which, 
at  Trefethen,  connected  with  the  Midlands,  which  would 


ONLY    A    FLY  251 

take  him  to  the  Hudson  River  at  Albany,  and  so  on  to 
New  York,  where  he  was  going.  So  he  ran  through 
Billy  Kelley's  alley.  The  weight  of  the  valise  helped 
him  in  running  down  Yinton  Street.  But  it  did  not 
help  him  quite  enough,  for  he  was  a  hundred  paces 
short  of  the  electric  track  when  the  "Limits"  car 
passed,  the  through  car  which  he  needed  for  the  north 
ern  stations.  He  waved  his  umbrella.  But  the  con 
ductor  was  looking  the  other  way,  and  the  motor-man 
did  not  look  at  all.  If  they  had  seen  him  they  would 
both  have  laughed  and  gone  faster.  So  Lawrence  had 
to  wait  for  the  Bradstreet  Avenue  car,  and  to  take  his 
chances  of  a  connection  at  Cheever  Square. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  rather  uneasily,  but  said, 
aloud,  cheerfully  in  tone,  "  ffa  ira.  We  will  put  it 
through."  Nor  did  he  once  say  to  himself,  what  is  the 
first  thing  which  occurs  to  me  and  my  intelligent 
readers,  "  If  it  had  not  been  for  grandmamma's  ridicu 
lous  fly,  I  should  have  hit  the  Limits  car."  But  if  he 
had  said  this,  it  would  have  been  true. 


II. — BRADSTREET    AVENUE 

The  Bradstreet  Avenue  car  was  an  open  car,  with 
the  seats  running  across.  If  it  had  not  been  a  car  of 
that  build,  this  story  would  never  have  been  written, 
far  less  printed  ;  for  then  all  would  have  been  changed. 

Lawrence's  seat  was  the  last  of  those  in  front  of  the 
smoking  people.  He  lifted  in  his  valise  and  followed 
it.  The  two  women  who  sat  next  the  street  preferred 
to  have  him  pass  them,  treading  upon  their  twenty 


252  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

toes,  and,  of  necessity,  wiping  the  mud  from  his  boots 
upon  their  dresses.  For  reasons  known  to  themselves 
and  to  no  others,  they  refused  to  move  in  so  that  he 
might  take  the  outer  seat.  So  he  was  the  better 
placed  in  the  little  incident  which  followed. 

This  was  the  little  incident:  As  the  car  ran  happily 
along  James  Street,  which  runs  along  the  edge  of  the 
water  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  Lawrence,  who  was  read 
ing  a  newspaper,  felt  a  jar,  heard  a  crash,  looked  up 
and  saw  a  large  horse  in  front  of  him  in  the  car,  in 
place  of  the  people  who  had  been  on  the  seat.  In  an 
instant  more  his  own  car  rose  from  the  right-hand 
track,  rolled  over,  and  while  Lawrence  guarded  his 
head  with  his  arm  he  rolled  over  with  it.  Something 
struck  him  on  the  head,  and  for  the  next  nine  hours  he 
knew  nothing. 

But  I  know  all,  and  the  reader  of  these  lines  shall 
know  all.  What  Lawrence  could  not  have  told,  I  tell. 

Pinckney  Street,  Myrtle  Street,  and  Chestnut  Street 
descend  at  right  angles  to  James  Street,  and  cross  it. 
The  hill  by  which  they  descend  is  as  steep  a  hill  as  will 
tolerate  the  ascent  or  descent  of  horses.  Indeed,  no 
one  who  could  help  it  would  drive  up  or  down  Pinck 
ney  Street. 

But  there  is  one  set  of  men  who  cannot  help  it. 
They  are  the  men  who  drive  the  city's  ash-carts.  For 
every  one  has  coal  fires  on  Pinckney  Street,  and  there 
are  many  ashes  left — nay,  some  cinders — which  must 
be  carried  away.  And  on  this  particular  day  when 
Lawrence  was  in  the  Bradstreet  Avenue  car,  on  his 
way  to  the  northern  stations,  that  he  might  go  to  New 
York  and  make  his  fortune,  ash-cart  No.  47  was  stand- 


ONLY   A   FLY  253 

ing  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Cowan's  house,  No.  89,  with 
a  very  heavy  load,  the  horse  facing  downhill.  The 
wheels  were  very  carefully  blocked,  and  the  stout  stick 
made  for  the  purpose  held  up  the  thills.  At  that  mo 
ment  little  Jonas  Cowan,  with  a  yellow  paper  kite, 
rushed  out  from  the  back  passage  of  his  mother's  house, 
into  which  the  ash-man  had  just  plunged.  Jonas  Cow 
an  trailed  behind  him  his  yellow  paper  kite,  that  it 
mio-ht  have  the  better  chance  in  the  street.  Jonas 

o 

was  still  in  petticoats,  and  knew  as  little  about  kites  as 
the  reader  knows  about  quaternions. 

The  kite  passed  within  three  feet  of  the  nose  of  the 
horse  of  the  ash -cart.  The  horse  started.  Pegasus 
would  have  started.  A  saw-horse  would  have  started 
if  it  could.  The  horse  started.  The  guardian  stick 
flew  up.  The  wheels  cleared  the  stones  which  blocked 
them.  The  whole  ton  of  ashes  pressed  heavily  down  on 
the  poor  horse.  He  could  not  help  himself — he  trotted. 
He  then  broke  into  a  run.  He  rushed  down  Pinckney 
Street  just  as  the  Bradstreet  Avenue  car  passed  it. 
And  he  did  the  only  thing  a  horse  with  an  ash-cart  be 
hind  him  could  do — he  leaped  into  the  open  car. 

It  was  this  horse  whom  Lawrence  saw — almost  with 
his  last  intelligent  sight  of  anything — before  the  police 
man  in  attendance  picked  him  up  and  carried  him  to 
the  hospital. 

III. THE    HOSPITAL 

The  humorous  disposition  of  motor -men  and  con 
ductors,  which  makes  them  look  cheerfully  on  the  mis 
fortunes  or  failures  of  passengers,  has  been  referred  to. 


254  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND   OTHERS 

But  this  disposition  did  not  prevent  the  officers  in 
charge  of  the  Bradstreet  Avenue  car  from  feeling  the 
seriousness  of  the  position  when  it  was  overturned. 

They  rang  in  the  police  and  emergency  corps.  Two 
or  three  ambulances  were  in  attendance  before  the 
wreck  was  wholly  cleared  away,  so  that  the  bed  of 
an  ambulance  was  ready  for  Lawrence  before  the 
stanchion  of  the  car  was  lifted  off  his  thighs,  binding 
him  to  the  broken  floor.  Fortunately  for  him,  perhaps, 
he  was  insensible,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  handling, 
rough  of  necessity,  by  which  he  was  lifted  to  this  bed. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  the  faintest  twi 
light  given  by  a  screened  lamp,  that  he  looked  around 
him  first,  in  the  white  bed  in  which  they  placed  him 
in  the  hospital.  The  first  thing  he  really  learned  was 
that  his  arm  was  tied  so  that  he  could  not  move  it. 
The  next  was  that  when  he  tried  to  move  his  legs 
the  effort  cost  him  great  pain.  This  accounted  for 
certain  very  absurd  dreams  which  he  now  vainly  tried 
to  recall,  which  had  been  haunting  him  just  before. 
His  effort  was  enough  to  make  his  attendant  lean  over 
the  bed  and  speak  to  him. 

In  a  whisper  this  man  said,  kindly,  "  How  do  you 
feel  now?" 

"  Feel  ?"  said  Lawrence,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  tied  into 
a  bed  and  could  not  get  out  of  it.  How  in  thunder 
did  I  get  here?" 

"  You  must  not  speak  aloud.  You  will  wake  the 
others.  You  are  all  right.  Only  there  was  an  acci 
dent,  and  you  were  knocked  in  the  head."  And  then 
for  the  first  time  Lawrence  made  out  that  he  had  a 
cloth  round  his  head.  That  is  to  say,  this  was  the  first 


ONLY    A    FLY  255 

time  that  he  knew  when  the  good-natured  attendant 
removed  the  compress  and  replaced  it  by  another  new 
ly  wet  with  iced  water.  He  was  not  much  disposed  to 
talk.  lie  asked  some  questions  about  the  horse,  the 
sudden  apparition  of  which  he  remembered,  and  then 
obeyed  the  nurse's  requisition,  put  gently  in  manner 
but  firmly  in  substance,  that  he  should  hold  his  tongue 
if  he  could,  and  that  he  had  better  go  to  sleep.  With 
some  little  help  he  found  an  easier  attitude  for  himself, 
and  then,  sooner  than  he  expected,  he  obeyed  both  in 
junctions. 

And  this  was  the  beginning  of  weeks  on  weeks  of 
hospital  life.  His  right  arm  had  been  broken  in  two 
places,  above  the  elbow  and  below.  Both  fractures 
were  simple,  there  was  no  difficulty  about  placing 
the  bones,  and  the  surgeons  were  encouraging  about 
them.  For  the  rest,  one  thigh  was  terribly  scraped 
and  scratched  and  torn  in  its  fleshy  integuments,  and 
groups  of  doctors  came  and  felt  and  poked  and  punch 
ed,  to  determine  what  were  certain  internal  injuries, 
real  or  suspected,  probable  or  doubtful.  At  first  they 
affected  to  withdraw  from  the  bedside  before  they 
talked  of  these.  But  after  a  few  days,  when  Lawrence 
had  approved  himself  a  person  of  nerve  and  sense,  such 
affectation  came  to  an  end,  and  they  discussed  his 
make-up  in  his  own  hearing,  much  as  if  he  were  the 
stenographer  taking  notes  of  their  conversation.  All 
this  added  one  entertainment,  and  that  one  of  the  most 
important,  to  Lawrence's  monotonous  day.  They  told 
him  squarely,  very  soon  after  he  had  won  their  confi 
dence,  that  it  would  be  some  weeks  before  they  should 
let  him  go. 


256  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

The  hospital  people  had  not  found  who  he  was  till 
late  in  the  evening.  But  then  the  contents  of  his  valise 
had  revealed  his  name,  and  his  aunt's  address  had  been 
found.  In  the  morning  she  appeared,  and  his  cousin 
Frank,  a  bright  boy,  who  from  that  time  was  his  best 
medium  in  communicating  with  the  outward  world. 
After  a  day,  the  authorities  permitted  Lawrence  to 
dictate  a  letter.  At  his  bidding  Frank  wrote  the  presi 
dent  of  the  International  Lubricant  Compai^,  Limited, 
to  explain  what  was  the  accident  which  had  happened 
to  Mr.  Lawrence  Mitchell.  The  letter  said,  in  a  some 
what  bold,  copy-book  hand,  that  it  would  be  six  weeks 
probably  before  he  would  be  able  to  report  at  the  Lu 
bricant  office.  He  explained  also  that,  so  soon  as  his 
trunks  arrived  in  Kew  York,  whither  they  had  been 
sent,  there  would  be  found  in  the  tray  of  No.  2  the 
memoranda  on  the  destructive  distillation  of  colza,  pe 
troleum,  lard,  and  sperm  oil,  with  Mr.  L.  M.'s  notes 
on  the  same.  For  the  use  of  these  reports  and  notes, 
Mr.  L.  M.  enclosed  his  key. 

At  the  end  of  ten  days  a  note,  which  Lawrence 
thought  rather  stiff,  was  received  in  reply  from  the 
president.  In  a  way  it  expressed  a  certain  regret  for 
the  accident.  It  said  that  the  tables  and  notes  had 
been  found,  and  were  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Vance,  who 
would  address  Mr.  Mitchell  a  separate  note  regarding 
them.  The  key  was  enclosed,  carefully  done  up  in  a 
small  envelope.  The  trunks  were  awaiting  Mr.  Mitch 
ell's  order.  It  would  be  impossible  for  the  Interna 
tional  Lubricant  to  wait  six  weeks  for  the  opportunity 
to  retain  his  services.  And  accordingly  the  president 
hoped  that  Mr.  Mitchell  would  consider  their  contract 


ONLY    A    FLY  257 

at  an  end.  He  hoped  also  that  Mr.  Mitchell  would 
soon  be  restored  to  health.  And  he  had  the  honor  to 
be  the  most  humble  and  obedient  of  Mr.  Mitchell's 
servants.  And  this  was  all. 

After  Lawrence  had  read  the  letter,  it  happened  that 
Frank  came  in,  and  brought  his  grandmother  for  her 
first  visit  to  the  hospital.  Dear  old  lady,  she  was  most 
kind  and  sympathetic.  She  was  most  eager  to  have 
him  well  enough  to  come  to  the  house  again.  She  had 
brought  the  Chautauquan  and  a  couple  of  other  mag 
azines  to  cheer  him.  He  kissed  her  affectionately  as 
she  went  away.  But  as  she  and  Frank  left  the  ward, 
he  wrote  with  his  left  hand  in  his  note-book: 

''  How  little  dear  grandmamma  thinks  that  I  am  laid  up  here,  and 
have  lost  my  salary,  and  a  position  for  life,  because  she  killed  that 
old  fly.  fa  ira!  We  must  put  this  through." 


IV. — THE    TERKACE 

AVe  measure  life  now  by  inches  and  now  by  miles, 
now  by  hours  and  now  by  years.  To  Lawrence,  when 
he  saw  the  horse  in  front  of  him,  the  next  second 
seemed  of  paramount  importance ;  its  weight  and  worth 
were  more  than  all  other  seconds  together.  But,  only 
half  an  hour  before,  he  had  been  looking  forward  for 
five  years  at  once,  thinking  of  the  time  when  Mr.  Olive, 
the  treasurer  and  selling  agent  of  the  International  Lu 
bricant,  would  probably  withdraw  from  active  duty, 
and  when  there  would  be  a  promotion,  all  along  the 
line,  among  the  subordinates  in  that  concern. 

And  now  that  Lawrence  was  in  bed,  the  important 


258  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

part  of  life,  far  the  most  important  part,  seemed  the 
period  before  the  doctors  let  him  get  out.  He  could 
not  compare  against  this  the  period  before  he  should 
be  at  the  World's  Fair,  or  at  his  next  Commencement, 
or  before  the  end  of  the  century. 

Even  before  he  was  to  get  out  of  bed  there  was 
another  period  which  had  a  special  interest.  If  all 
went  well,  and  there  was  no  risk  of  bad  weather,  or  of 
taking  cold,  his  bed  could  be  put  on  the  rails  and  run 
out  upon  the  Terrace. 

The  Terrace  was  on  the  same  floor.  At  ten  every 
morning,  if  the  sun  shone  bright,  the  fortunate  beds  on 
his  right  hand  and  on  his  left  were  pushed  out  upon 
the  Terrace.  What  was  much  more  important,  the 
people  in  the  beds  went  also.  Neither  bed  nor  inmate 
returned  till  nearly  four,  if  the  weather  were  bright. 
And  in  dear,  glowing,  golden  October  the  weather, 
thank  God,  almost  always  was  bright.  A  young  doc 
tor  with  the  least  possible  German  lisp,  a  man  with 
curly  golden  hair,  who  always  seemed  to  Lawrence 
like  Apollo  when  he  came  into  Vulcan's  smithy,  told 
Lawrence  that  before  many  days,  if  all  went  well,  he 
should  go  upon  the  Terrace.  So  was  it  that  he  count 
ed  hours  and  days  between  the  now  and  the  Terrace, 
ten  times  as  closely  as  he  counted  them  between  now 
and  New-year,  or  between  now  and  his  birthday. 

At  last  the  happy  day  came.  The  modest  elms  in 
the  hospital  garden  showed  their  best  golden  leaves 
against  the  dark  blue  of  heaven.  A  maple,  which  good 
old  Dr.  Chittenden  had  sent  from  Yermont  thirty  years 
before,  blazed  its  most  brilliant  scarlet.  A  gingko-tree, 
which  was  the  gift  to  the  garden  of  young  Dr.  Isukara 


ONLY    A    FLY  259 

from  Nagasaki,  was  contributing  the  orange.  And  the 
day  was  simply  heaven  to  Lawrence,  as  in  triumph  the 
casters  of  his  bed  ran  down  the  slope  of  his  threshold 
and  he  was  under  the  open  sky  of  God.  Not  Baron 
Trenck,  when  he  emerged  from  the  water-passage  on 
the  north  side  of  the  glacis  at  Magdeburg,  was  hap 
pier.  And  I  do  not  think  that  Baron  Trenck  was  half 
so  grateful. 

And  it  lasted.  When  Frank's  school  was  out,  he 
hurried  to  the  scene.  For  all  worthy  men  and  boys, 
and  all  good  angels,  had  known  that  on  this  day,  the 
llth  of  October,  as  if  to  celebrate  the  greatest  event  in 
modern  history,  Lawrence  was  to  be  moved  to  the  Ter 
race.  He  had  wanted  nothing  till  now  but  to  look  on 
the  gingko  and  the  sassafras  and  the  maple  and  the 
elms  and  the  green  grass  and  the  blue  sky,  and  on  the 
white  beds  and  blue  parasols  of  the  others.  And  now 
he  was  not  tired  of  their  endless  variety.  But  now  he 
let  Frank  bring  him  a  light  table,  with  the  last  two 
numbers  of  the  Chautauquan,  and  The  Making  of  Mod 
ern  Europe,  and  Prof.  McClintoek's  Mediceval  Poetry. 
Not  that  he  wanted  to  read  himself,  but  the  others 
might.  And  it  looked  social  to  have  a  book  or  two. 

And  Frank  showed  him  a  spring  butterfly  he  had 
been  making  from  a  long  Waterbury  watch-spring  and 
four  bits  of  binders'  board.  And  they  entertained 
each  other,  and,  as  it  proved,  all  their  neighbors  on 
the  Terrace,  as  they  made  him  flap  his  ungainly  wings, 
now  slow,  now  fast ;  fast  when  he  struck  down,  slow  as 
he  caught  the  upward  slope  and  made  time  to  strike 
fast  again.  The  butterfly  would  fall  now  on  No.  37, 
now  on  No.  11,  and  Frank  would  run  and  bring  him 


»oO  SUSAN  S    ESCORT,  AND   OTHERS 

back.  And  all  the  Terrace,  or  their  end  of  the  Terrace, 
watched  for  these  uncertain  visits.  Frank  had  brought 
his  lunch,  but  at  ten  minutes  of  two  he  had  to  go  away 
to  school. 

Then  the  pretty  girl  who  was  reading  to  No.  29  went 
away.  And  the  sun  went  round  towards  the  west,  as 
the  sun  will,  so  that  No.  29  had  to  move  her  parasol 
to  the  other  side  of  her  bed.  No.  29  was  next  Law 
rence,  but  through  the  morning  the  pretty  girl  had  sat 
between  him  and  No.  29,  and  the  parasol  had  cut  off 
even  his  sight  of  the  pretty  girl.  Now  he  could  see 
that  No.  29  was  a  pretty  girl  also— perhaps  the  sister 
or  the  cousin  of  the  reader. 

Now  Lawrence  told  his  attendant  that  he  might  put 
up  his  pillow  two  or  three  holes  higher,  and  that  he 
would  try  to  read.  They  let  him  read  now  as  much 
as  he  wanted  to,  because  he  did  not  read  with  his  hips 
or  right  hand. 

So  he  could  see  that  No.  29  was  peeping  in  between 
two  uncut  pages  of  a  magazine.  She  had  tried  to  cut 
them  with  a  spoon,  but  it  had  no  edge ;  and  then  with 
a  hairpin,  but  the  paper  was  too  strong,  and  the  hairpin 
only  bent  in  her  hand.  So  it  was  that  Lawrence  care 
fully  threw  his  tortoise-shell  knife,  with  its  ivory  paper- 
cutter  open,  across  to  No.  29,  and  said,  pleasantly,  "  Try 
this  cutter."  And  those  were  the  first  words  he  ever 
spoke  to  Clara  Fitch. 

Now  she  started,  for  she  was  really  surprised,  and 
thanked  him  very  prettily.  And  when  she  had  cut  her 
magazine,  and  read  it  all,  she  asked  him  if  he  would  not 
like  to  see  it.  And  he  stretched  his  left  arm  as  far  as 
he  could  to  take  it,  and  then  offered  her  his  Song  and 


ONLY    A    FLY  261 

Legend  of  the  Middle  Ages.  And  it  proved  that  she 
had  had  to  give  up  her  Chautauqua  reading  in  the 
spring,  and  she  did  not  know  what  the  new  year's 
course  was.  And  he  asked  her  to  look  at  the  Komance 
ballads,  and  he  said  he  remembered  a  better  translation 
of  Aucassin  than  Bourdillon's,  and  repeated  some  of  it. 
And  she  asked  him  to  read  an  amusing  story  in  her 
magazine  about  the  last  scholar  in  an  old  school.  And 
the  time  seemed  very  short  before  the  attendants  came 
and  trundled  them  all  off  again,  like  so  many  people 
in  Noah's  Ark,  to  the  compartments  where  they  be 
longed. 

V. — THE    INTERNATIONAL    LUBRICANT 

Meanwhile  the  affairs  of  the  International  Lubricant 
dragged  and  halted  wretchedly.  This  Mr.  Yance  who 
was  to  write  to  Lawrence  personally  about  the  destruc 
tive  distillation  of  oils,  did  write  to  him  personally. 
And  Lawrence,  though  he  thought  he  had  been  badly 
treated,  wrote  him  in  Frank's  best  handwriting  a  care 
ful  and  exhaustive  letter  on  the  subject,  telling  him 
some  things  he  did  not  know,  and  making  some  sug 
gestions  as  to  business  which  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  take. 

The  truth  was  that  Mr.  Yance  looked  on  the  whole 
work  of  the  International  Lubricant  as  a  contrivance 
for  putting  in  his  pocket  three  thousand  dollars  every 
year.  Whether  their  oils  made  things  go  easier  he  did 
not  care,  he  hardly  knew.  Now  Lawrence  was  glad 
enough  to  have  his  salary  once  a  month — he  would  not 
have  objected  if  it  had  been  called  his  wages,  for  then 


262  SUSAN'S   ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

he  would  have  had  them  every  week.  But  as  he  read, 
and  tried  experiments,  and  destroyed  oil  by  distillation 
in  them,  he  was  always  hoping  and  fancying,  and  pray 
ing  indeed,  that  some  wheel  somewhere  would  run  easier 
because  he  worked.  There  was  a  little  poem  he  was 
forever  humming,  about  a  railroad  fireman  who  was 
hurrying  to  his  sweetheart  on  a  train  ;  and  Lawrence, 
as  he  hummed,  was  always  thinking  that  some  of  his  oil 
was  on  the  slide  of  the  piston  of  that  man's  engine. 
When  a  formula  came  out,  in  his  planning,  rather  better 
than  the  one  he  had  tried  before,  he  made  some  little 
side  figures  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,  to  see  how  far 
it  might  abridge  the  passage  of  a  steamer  across  the 
Atlantic.  He  did  not  dirty  his  fingers  with  this  colza 
because  he  was  A  by  himself  A,  or  Lawrence  by  him 
self  Lawrence,  but  because  he  was  partaker  in  a  great 
firm  called  "  The  Universe." 

But  Mr.  Yance  did  his  work  as  Yance  by  himself 
Yance. 

The  same  difference  was  once  observed  between  two 
women  who  were  grinding  in  the  same  mill.  One  of 
them  was  taken  and  the  other  was  left. 

Mr.  Yance  had  no  tears  when  he  was  told  that  this 
wide  -  awake,  inventive,  destructive,  and  constructive 
young  man  of  science  was  not,  after  all,  to  be  taken 
into  the  works.  He  had  not  opposed  the  appointment. 
But  certainly  he  had  not  suggested  it.  When,  there 
fore,  the  president  had  told  him  that  Mr.  Mitchell 
could  not  come  for  some  weeks,  that  there  had  been 
a  bad  accident,  Mr.  Yance  said  he  was  very  sorry. 
This  was  not  true.  Then  he  had  taken  the  occasion  to 
say  that  his  office  was  very  much  pressed — that  he  had 


ONLY   A    FLY  263 

hoped  Mr.  Mitchell  would  relieve  him.  Then  he  had 
waited  a  moment  for  the  president,  and  the  president 
had  said  nothing.  Then  Mr.  Yance  had  said  that  per 
haps  they  might  make  some  temporary  arrangement. 
And  still  the  president  said  nothing.  Then  after  half 
a  minute  more  Mr.  Yance  said  that  there  was  an  in 
telligent  young  man  who  had  been  doing  some  cal 
culating  and  copying  for  him  at  home,  who  understood 
the  detail  alread}7,  and  that  perhaps  he  might  take  him 
into  the  office  as  an  assistant  till  some  better  arrange 
ment  could  be  made. 

This  is  the  sort  of  half- plan  which  hard-pressed  presi 
dents  are  apt  to  be  pleased  with.  And  the  president 
of  the  I.  L.  said  that  if  the  young  man  had  some 
experience  Mr.  Yance  might  engage  him,  and  Mr. 
Yance  suggested  a  low  salary  for  the  young  man.  So 
that  was  settled. 

Now  the  young  man  of  experience  was  in  fact  a 
brother  of  Mrs.  Yance,  who  had  been  dismissed  from 
his  last  employment  because  his  cash  would  never 
balance  at  night.  By  employing  him  in  Lawrence's 
place  the  I.  L.  saved,  or  thought  it  saved,  eighteen 
hundred  dollars  a  year. 

Had  Mr.  Yance  ever  heard  of  Lawrence's  grand 
mother,  or  had  Eugene,  who  was  the  brother  of  Mrs. 
Yance,  they  would  have  said,  "  We  owe  this  good  fort 
une  to  the  old  lady's  wish  to  kill  that  fly."  In  a  wav 
they  did,  but  not  wholly.  If  Mr.  Yance  had  not  been 
what  he  was,  and  the  president  what  he  was,  things 
would  not  have  fallen  out  that  way. 


264 


VI. — THE  TERRACE  AGAIN 

Meanwhile  Lawrence,  who  had  no  longer  to  look 
forward  to  his  first  day  on  the  Terrace,  looked  forward 
for  his  second  and  third  and  fourth.  And  there  is  no 
harm  in  saying  that  he  looked  forward  with  hope  that 
the  good  angels  might  appoint  his  place  next  to  the 
place  of  No.  29,  whom  he  soon  came  to  know  as  Miss 
Clara  Fitch.  On  the  second  day  he  had  no  such  luck ; 
and  it  was  impossible  to  ask  her  to  ask  her  push-people 
to  put  her  next  to  him.  Lawrence  did  not  know 
whether  he  wanted  to  be  out  early,  so  that  no  other 
bed  might  be  thrust  before  his,  or  late,  so  as  to  urge 
his  pusher  to  put  him  next  her.  He  did  what  was 
wise — that  is,  he  took  his  pushers  into  full  confidence. 
If  he  had  not,  they  would  have  known  what  he  wanted. 
And  it  was  just  as  well  that  they  should  know.  He 
had  already  made  himself  a  favorite  with  everybody, 
and  the  pushers  were  as  eager  as  he  was  to  secure  his 
object. 

Whether  they  told  the  pushers  of  the  women's  ward 
what  they  wanted  I  do  not  know,  nor  will  this  reader 
ever  know.  Only  this  I  know— that  the  chances,  by 
the  law  of  chances,  were  476  to  1  that  these  two 
patients  would  not  come  together  on  any  special  day 
on  the  Terrace ;  and  that,  as  things  went,  ordered  or 
not  I  do  not  say,  it  "  happened,-'  as  we  are  fond  of  say- 
ing,  that,  four  days  out  of  five  of  that  autumn,  Law 
rence  was  rolled  to  the  berth  on  the  right  or  left  of 
Miss  Fitch,  or  Miss  Fitch  rolled  to  the  place  on  the  left 
or  right  of  Mr,  Mitchell,  For  this  the  reader  may  ac- 


ONLY    A    FLY  2G5. 

count  as  he  pleases.  Besides  this  I  only  know  that 
of  the  arrangements  necessary  for  this  purpose  Miss 
Clara  Fitch  knew  nothing.  Nor  can  I  tell  what  she 
wanted.  What  Lawrence  Mitchell  wanted  I  have  told 
already. 

So  it  was  not  on  one  day  only  that  these  young  peo 
ple  were  able  to  exchange  their  magazines,  their  paper- 
knives,  or  their  fans.  And  Lawrence  began  to  give 
Frank  more  specific  orders  as  to  what  he  was  to  bring 
from  his  grandmother's  house,  or  from  the  libraries,  or 
from  the  book-stores. 

Miss  Fitch's  cousins  came  with  a  certain  regularity 
to  read  to  her,  between  eleven  and  two.  These  hours 
Lawrence  and  Frank  had  to  themselves,  either  for 
studies  of  lubricants,  or  for  discussions  about  the  model 
of  the  Vigilant  and  Valkyrie,  or  for  experiments  on  the 
butterfly.  But  about  a  quarter  before  two  the  visitors 
went  away,  and  the  patients  were  screwed  up  in  their 
beds  to  have  their  mid-day  meals.  These  did  not  last 
long,  and  then  there  were  nearly  two  hours  when  Law 
rence  could  direct  his  attention  and  attentions  to  his 
pretty  neighbor,  and  gratify,  so  far  as  he  and  Frank 
and  the  telegraph  and  the  mail  and  the  special-delivery 
stamps  could,  any  wishes  she  had  expressed  the  day 
before.  Frank  brought  him,  very  early  in  the  affair, 
a  lovely  long  beefsteak-and-chop-turner,  far  more  avail 
able  for  passing  things  from  bed  to  bed  than  any  other 
kind  of  tongs. 

For  instance,  one  happy  Tuesday,  when  the  raw- 
boned  and  skinny  cousin  left,  with  ill-disguised  satis 
faction,  as  the  dinner-trays  came,  Lawrence  began  at 
once  with  Miss  Clara. 


266  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"  Your  cousin  is  reading  you  '  The  Eing  and  the 
Book.' " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  good-naturedly,  but  pretending  to 
yawn,  "  and  I  am  dreadfully  tired.  We  are  working 
at  the  third  explanation  of  the  mystery.  It  is  very 
subtle,  but  it  is  very  long." 

"  If  I  had  to  initiate  anybody  into  the  great  company 
of  Browningites,  I  should  not  begin  at  that  end,"  said 
Lawrence,  boldly. 

"  Is  not  one  end  as  good  as  another  ?  They  used  to 
tell  me  to  begin  with  the  inner  end  of  my  embroidery 
silks,  but  I  did  not  know  that  you  handled  poets  in 
that  way." 

"  They  say,"  said  he,  "  that  you  can  read  Emerson  up 
the  page  as  well  as  down.  But,  with  Browning,  you 
have  to  begin  with  the  beginning,  and  go  step  by  step 
to  the  end." 

"Do  you  ever  get  there?"  said  she,  laughing. 

"Indeed  you  do,  indeed  }7ou  do,  if  you  do  not  break 
your  neck  in  a  hurry  at  the  first.  But  how  is  it,  Miss 
Fitch,  that  you  did  not  begin  in  our  dear  Chautauqua? 
That  was  what  started  me." 

"  Chautauqua  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  long  before  you  began.  I  have  their  vol 
ume  here.  Let  mo  read  you  some  of  my  favorites." 

How  fortunate  that  Lawrence  should  have  had  the 
volume!  Fortunate,  but  that  he  had  foreknown,  fore 
seen,  and  prepared  for  the  whole  conversation  !  When 
Skin-and-Bones  finished  her  screed  of  the  "  Ring  and 
the  Book"  on  Monday,  Lawrence  had  telegraphed  to 
Frank  to  bring  him  his  nice  volume  of  the  Chautauqua 
selections  from  Browning.  Thus  it  was  that  he  "  hap- 


ONLY    A   FLY  26? 

pened  to  have"  that  little  volume  lying  at  his  side. 
And  so  it  was  that  they  had  that  pleasant  afternoon  as 
he  read  her  his  favorites.  And  so  he  ventured  to  say 
when  they  parted,  "  I  hope  we  may  be  near  each  other 
again.1' 

And  near  each  other  again  they  were,  as  has  been 
said.  Four  pleasant  days  out  of  five  they  were  near 
each  other.  And  if  it  rained,  and  Lawrence  had  to 
stay  in  the  ward,  the  imprisonment  seemed  to  give  him 
only  new  opportunity  to  show  Miss  Fitch  how  long  his 
arms  were. 

Lawrence  did  not  dare  send  a  regular  order  for 
flowers  to  Galvin  to  be  delivered  every  day  to  Miss 
Fitch  in  Ward  C.  C.  But  he  did  make  Frank  bring 
him  cut  flowers  every  day,  and  with  the  beefsteak- 
tongs  it  was  easy  to  pass  a  carnation  or  a  maurandia 
across  to  her. 

Of  course  there  would  come  botches.  That  odious 
fifth  day  would  come,  when  the  men's  ward  was  too 
late,  or  Ward  C.  C.  was  too  late,  so  that  Lawrence  had 
to  get  along  as  he  might  with  a  deaf  Swede  on  one  side 
of  him  and  a  cross  Russian  on  the  other.  But  when 
this  happened  he  called  it  "  the  fortune  of  war,"  and 
made  plans  more  extravagant  than  ever  for  the  next 
day.  The  pushers  and  nurses  never  saw  his  temper 
ruffled. 

VII. — FOLGER    FITCH 

Sometimes  there  was  an  embarrassment  of  riches  on 
the  Terrace.  People  knew  at  what  hour  they  might 
come,  and  they  did  not  always  come  at  the  hour  when 


268  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

there  was  most  room  for  them.  Frank  \vas  furious 
one  day  when  he  had  brought  a  long  new  Waterbury 
watch-spring,  and  some  butterfly  wings  twice  as  large 
as  they  had  ever  tried,  and  all  was  ready  for  an  ex 
periment  on  a  magnificent  scale— he  was  furious  be 
cause  an  old  gray-haired  college  professor  came  in  just 
as  his  cousin  Lawrence  got  to  work.  The  tools  and 
the  tray  had  to  be  pushed  aside,  while  the  two  men 
talked  about  the  correlation  of  forces,  and  poor  Frank 
was  left  to  walk  up  and  down  the  garden  and  blow 
thistledown. 

Miss  Fitch  had  three  regular  visitors,  who  came  in 
turn.  Lawrence  did  not  know  their  names,  but  prac 
tically  he  and  Frank  had  christened  them  Nasturtium, 
Clover  Blossom,  and  Skinflint.  I  do  not  say  that 
Lawrence  ever  used  these  names,  but  he  understood 
them  when  Frank  used  them.  To  the  great  surprise, 
not  to  say  anger,  of  Skinflint,  when  she  arrived  on 
time  one  day,  with  her  "Ring  and  Book,''  she  found  a 
good-natured  looking  gentleman  sitting  on  the  camp- 
stool  which  she  generally  filled.  And  while  she  would 
gladly  have  stunned  him  to  earth  with  one  of  her  chill 
ing  Medea  glances,  it  was  hardly  reasonable  for  her  to 
do  so,  because,  as  she  saw,  he  was  poor  dear  Clara's 
father. 

For  Mr.  Folger  Fitch  had  given  up  a  day  from  the 
works  that  he  might  come  down  to  the  hospital  him 
self  and  see  how  his  darling  Clara  was  coming  on. 

Now,  whatever  were  the  senior  cousin's  duties  or 
rights  in  the  business,  it  was  clear  that  Clara's  father 
had  as  good  rights,  or  better.  Clara  herself  was  very 
quick  and  very  good-natured.  She  was  really  greatly 


ONLY    A    FLY  269 

obliged  to  her  three  cousins  for  the  promptness  with 
which  they  had  rallied  to  care  for  her  as  soon  as  they 
heard  of  her  accident.  And  she  did  not  choose  that 
Miss  Astrsea  should  be  hurt,  even  if  she  were  unreason 
able.  So  she  told  her  that  she  must  not  go  away;  she 
made  her  father  understand  that  now  was  a  good 
minute  for  him  to  see  the  superintendent,  and  as  he 
turned  to  go  to  the  office  she  introduced  him  to  Law 
rence. 

"Father,  this  is  Mr.  Mitchell.  He  was  hurt  when  I 
was,  and  he  is  very  careful  for  all  of  us." 

So  Folger  Fitch  and  Lawrence  Mitchell  began  talk 
ing  together.  Mr.  Fitch  bowed  courteously,  gave  his 
hand  to  Lawrence,  and  hardly  let  him  speak  before  he 
thanked  him,  he  really  knew  not  why.  Lawrence,  who 
was  waiting  for  Frank's  arrival,  showed  him  where 
Frank's  seat  was,  and  begged  him  to  sit  down.  As  he 
did  so,  Lawrence  laid  down  his  paper.  He  knew  Mr. 
Fitch  at  once  as  one  of  the  largest  manufacturers  of 
light  wagons  in  the  country.  And  he  said,  "What  I 
am  reading  will  interest  you.  It  is  Sir  Charles  Trefe- 
then's  paper  on  the  effect  produced  by  high  rates  of 
speed  on  the  lubricants  employed." 

At  once  he  dashed  into  conversation.  There  fol 
lowed  what  is  one  of  the  happiest  bits  of  talk  always, 
when  an  accomplished  man  of  science,  who  has  touched 
a  subject  from  the  theoretic  end,  meets  an  accomplished 
man  of  affairs,  who  has  begun  at  the  end  of  practical 
experience. 

Clara  had  to  call,  laughing,  to  her  father  once,  to  tell 
him  he  must  really  go  and  thank  the  superintendent 
and  the  doctor,  and  that  then  he  might  come  back  and 


270  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 

talk  as  much  as  he  would.  He  laughed  and  said  to 
Lawrence  that  he  always  obeyed  her.  But  he  was 
soon  back  again,  and  the  two  plunged  into  questions 
about  patent  axles,  and  metal  on  metal,  what  friction 
was  and  what  it  was  not. 

Lawrence  delighted  him  by  showing  him  a  computa 
tion  lie  had  made  in  his  absence,  on  a  bit  of  blotting- 
paper,  as  to  the  number  of  years  of  efficient  life  added 
to  the  people  of  the  United  States  if  only  some  inven 
tion  made  the  light  carriages  of  the  United  States  do 
their  average  work  of  a  day  in  five  minutes  less  time 
than  was  needed  the  year  before.  He  laughed,  and  said  : 

"  When  they  broke  me  to  pieces  the  other  day,  be 
cause  my  car,  for  want  of  proper  oil,  perhaps,  was  not 
fifteen  feet  farther  forward,  I  was  on  my  way  to  the 
International  Lubricant  Company,  where  I  was  to  be  a 
superintendent." 

Folger  Fitch's  face  clouded  as  he  said,  "  I  know 
them." 

Lawrence  wondered  on  what  unfortunate  subject  he 
had  spoken  then.  In  an  instant  he  changed  it. 

"I  wonder  you  gentlemen  leave  your  carriages  to 
the  chances  of  wayside  blacksmiths  and  hostlers.  Why 
not  oil  a  carriage  as  carefully  as  a  sewing-machine?  I 
should  like  to  show  you  my  drawings  for  a  self-oiler, 
which  I  would  fill  at  New7  -  year's  Day,  and  which 
would  need  no  other  oiling  for  a  year." 

"  Have  you  thought  of  that  ?"  said  Folger  Fitch.  "  I 
have,  too." 

And  at  that  moment  Miss  Astraea  abandoned  her 
book  at  last  and  gave  him  a  chance  to  speak  to  his 
daughter. 


ONLY    A    FLY  271 


VIII. FREEDOM 

And  at  last  it  proved  that  there  were  no  internal 
injuries  in  Lawrence's  make-up,  and,  perhaps,  never  had 
been  any.  Auscultating  and  thumping  and  rubbing 
and  rolling  him  over  and  back  revealed  nothing  amiss. 
The  two  breaks  in  the  arm  had  knit  firmly.  The 
wounds  in  the  leg  had  healed,  as  a  healthy  youngster's 
will.  And  the  doctor  and  the  surgeon  and  all  said  that 
the  rapid  recovery  was  due  mostly  to  his  patience,  that 
he  had  never  complained,  and  had  shown  no  desire  to 
go  away.  He  might  go  now,  as  soon  as  he  chose,  if 
only  he  would  report  once  a  week  at  the  hospital,  for 
them  to  make  wholly  sure  of  the  "  internal  injuries." 
So  his  grandmother's  carriage  came,  and  Frank,  in 
great  state,  to  take  him  away. 

Lawrence  sent  his  card  round  to  Ward  C.  C.,  where 
was  Miss  Clara,  not  so  fortunate.  But  she  was  much 
better,  and  very  pretty  she  looked,  as  he  came  to  say 
good-bye.  And  Lawrence  made  the  nurse  say  that  Dr. 
Lavender  had  said  that  the  next  week  Miss  Fitch 
might  drive  out  for  an  hour.  And  Lawrence  made 
her  promise  that  he  might  bring  his  grandmother's 
carriage  to  take  her.  And  so  it  was. 

Miss  Astra3a  had  to  go,  too,  and  Lawrence  could  say 
nothing,  as  he  turned  from  his  seat  to  speak  to  them, 
but  that  black  was  black  and  white  white,  and  matters 
of  equal  import.  Still,  he  was  driving  the  horses  that 
were  dragging  her  carriage,  and  he  had  so  far  a  sort  of 
charge  of  her.  That  was  as  it  should  be,  and  sometime 
he  would  say  something  more  to  her. 


272  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

And  the  day  carne  when  he  did.  With  an  occasional 
ride,  with  a  bunch  of  flowers  to-day  or  a  new  book  to 
morrow,  or  a  call  on  the  Terrace,  he  managed  to  keep 
up  a  flitting  arid  occasional  intercourse  with  Miss  Clara 
until  the  happy  day  when  she  also  was  told  that  her 
cure  could  be  perfected  outside  the  hospital  doors. 

It  was  determined  that  before  she  took  the  long 
journey  to  Phaetonville,  where  the  works  were,  she 
should  spend  a  week  at  the  Trefoils'  house.  For  Clara 
had  been  on  her  way  to  the  Trefoils'  on  that  fatal 
morning  when  the  little  boy's  kite  frightened  the  horse 
that  ran  away  with  the  cart  which  smashed  the  car  in 
which  Lawrence  and  Clara,  all  unconscious  of  each 
other's  existence,  were  sitting. 

O 

And  before  Clara  could  go  about  freely,  there  were 
long  mornings  when  she  could  sit  in  Mrs.  Trefoil's 
back  parlor,  and  Lawrence  would  make  long  morning 
visits  there.  Florence  Trefoil  was  the  cousin  whom 
he  and  Frank  liked  best  of  the  three  hospital  visitors. 
She  was  the  one  whom  they  had  nicknamed  Clover 
Blossom,  because  one  morning  she  had  a  clover  blos 
som  in  her  button-hole.  And  it  almost  always  hap 
pened  that  when  Lawrence  called  on  Clara,  Florence 
would  be  summoned  from  the  room  just  for  a  minute, 
and  often  these  minutes  extended  to  hours.  Or  some 
times  Florence  had  to  go  to  the  weekly  meeting  of  the 
Society  for  the  Employment  of  the  Upper  Classes. 
And  in  these  long  visits  of  Lawrence's  to  Clara,  after 
he  was  quite  sure  that  he  did  not  tire  her,  he  read 
Browning  to  her,  or  Austin  Dobson.  Or  sometimes 
he  did  not. 

But  it  was  not  long — it  was  before  the  visit  was 


ONLY    A    FLY  273 

over — that  he  had  persuaded  her  that  that  fortunate 
and  happy  ride  in  the  James  Street  car,  which  was  the 
first  ride  they  ever  took  together,  was  not  to  be  the 
last — not  by  any  means. 

"Why  not  forever  ride,  we  two, 
With  life  forever  old,  yet  new  ?" 

He  was  sure  he  did  not  know.  And  Clara,  dear  child, 
she  did  not  know  either.  And  she  was  very  sweet 
and  pretty  when  she  told  him  so. 

So  it  was  that  the  very  next  day  he  made  his  grand 
mother  order  out  the  carriage — which  was  a  property 
quite  distinct  from  the  victoria  or  the  carry-all  or  the 
village-cart,  and  seldom  appeared — and  old  George  the 
coachman  got  himself  up  in  special  magnificence,  and 
took  the  state  whip  and  held  it  more  vertically  than 
ever.  Lawrence  helped  his  grandmother  up -stairs, 
and  she  made  the  state  call  on  Mrs.  Trefoil  and  An 
gela  Trefoil  and  Florence,  and  on  our  pretty  Clara, 
in  the  most  cordial  and  tender  way.  And  Miss  As- 
trasa,  the  other  cousin,  happened  in  to  make  an  inci 
dental  inquiry  about  the  choice  of  a  treasurer  for  the 
Occupation  Society,  and  she  joined  in  the  congratu 
lations  and  general  overflow  of  enthusiasm,  with  just 
acridity  enough  to  remind  them  all  that  they  were 
human.  It  was  well  that  they  should  remember  that 
life  is  not  made  up  of  such  fortunate  events  as  acci 
dents  to  street  railways. 

Just  as  Lawrence's  grandmother  had  finished  her 
visit — as  they  came  to  that  sacred  period  in  such  occa 
sions  when  everybody  stands  up  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  and  is  particularly  cordial  because  they  are  all 


274  SUSAN  S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

saying  good-bye — the  dear  old  lady  turned  to  Lawrence 
and  said: 

"My  dear  boy,  as  I  have  sat  at  home,  and  sent  to 
inquire  after  you,  I  have  thought  so  often  that  if  you 
had  not  come  back  to  speak  to  your  old  grandmother 
again,  you  would  have  taken  another  car,  and  all  this 
would  not  have  happened." 

"My  dear  grandmother,"  said  Lawrence, "IF  is  a  very 
wicked  word.  But  on  this  occasion,  if  I  had  not  seen 
you  that  last  time — why,  the  world  would  have  come 
to  an  end." 

N 

IX.  — LUBRICANTS 

In  New  York  things  did  not  move  so  smoothly.  In 
the  office  of  the  International  Lubricant  there  seemed 
to  be  more  grit  and  drag,  and  consequent  friction,  than 
anywhere  else. 

Six  months  before,  the  half-yearly  accounts  had 
shown  some  bad  falling  off  in  sales,  a  heavy  accumula 
tion  of  manufactured  goods,  and  the  loss  of  some  old 
customers.  The  president  tried  to  persuade  himself  and 
the  few  stockholders  who  came  to  the  annual  meeting* 
that  this  was  only  a  temporary  check.  It  was  true  that 
they  passed  a  dividend,  he  had  said;  but  that  would 
not  happen  again.  The  absence  of  their  largest  orders, 
those  from  Hubbs  &  Tyre,  was  due  only  to  the  death 
of  old  Mr.  Hubbs.  The  president  had  written  to  Mr. 
Tyre,  and  he  was  sure  that  matter  would  be  made  all 
right  and  any  difficulty  smoothed  over.  Every  one 
knew  that  the  great  depression  of  business  had  checked 
travel,  the  president  said.  If  people  did  not  travel 


ONLY    A    FLY  275 

they  did  not  oil  the  wheels,  he  said.  And  so  the  lubri 
cants  were  stored  up  in  the  warehouses,  instead  of  be 
ing  used  up  on  the  axles.  But  this  was,  of  course,  but 
temporary,  he  said,  and  the  lubricants  existed  all  the 
same.  They  would  be  sold,  sooner  or  later,  and  then 
the  company  would  have  their  dividends  again. 

This  seemed  to  him  very  satisfactory.  But  the 
younger  stockholders  grumbled.  And  it  was  after  a 
motion  from  Mr.  Hustler,  an  attorney  who  always 
made  a  fuss  at  corporation  meetings,  that  the  directors 
who  were  re-elected  had  promised  to  take  some  new 
steps  to  keep  the  old  corporation  even  with  the  time. 

It  was  in  taking  these  new  steps  that  they  had 
hunted  up  a  young  scientific  expert  named  Lawrence 
Mitchell,  with  whom  the  reader  is  acquainted.  When 
people  talked  of  putting  new  life  into  the  company,  he 
was  the  new  life.  Unfortunately,  grandmamma's  fly 
and  the  means  taken  for  its  destruction  had  interfered 
with  Mr.  Mitchell's  duties  in  lubricating  the  machinery 
of  the  I.  L.  corporation.  And,  in  fact,  as  all  hot  wheels 
will  do  when  they  are  hard  driven,  its  working  wheels 
grew  hotter  and  needed  more  attention. 

Neither  Mr.  Vance  nor  the  president  was  the  person 
to  give  them  that  attention.  Far  less  was  Mr.  Eugene 
Ripka,  who  had  been  called  in  to  assist  Mr.  Yance.  Mr. 
Vance  had  long  since  passed  that  dangerous  line  in 
business  which  marks  the  point  when  a  man  is  glad 
because  the  mail  is  small  and  the  morning  visits  few. 
Mr.  Vance  was  glad  when  he  could  shut  his  desk  at 
half-past  three  and  take  it  for  granted  that  nobody 
would  come  in  before  the  office  closed  at  four.  He 
had  come  to  that  very  dangerous  point  when  an  official 


276  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,    AND    OTHERS 

says,  "I  do  not  see  that  we  can  do  anything  about  it," 
and  when  he  is  very  glad  to  say  so.  And  his  new 
clerk,  Eugene  Eipka,  was  only  too  willing  to  indulge 
him  in  these  early  departures.  "  I  shall  not  go  till  five, 
sir,  if  you  care  to  leave  the  office  to  me."  Mr.  Eipka 
came  early,  and  opened  the  letters.  He  stayed  late, 
sent  off  the  mail  and  filed  the  copies.  There  never 
was  a  summer  when  Mr.  Vance  was  able  so  often  to 
take  the  early  afternoon  train  to  his  suburban  home. 

This  was  very  pleasant  for  Mrs.  Yance  and  her  boys 
and  girls.  But,  in  spite  of  such  prosperity,  the  sales  of 
lubricants  did  not  seem  to  advance.  Mr.  Yance  and 
the  president  had  one  or  more  conversations  in  which 
Mr.  Yance  recommended  the  renting  of  the  upper 
story  of  the  larger  factory  to  some  enterprising  young- 
electric  -  light  men.  But  this  annoyed  the  president, 
who  was  trying  at  the  same  moment  to  find  store 
room  for  the  oils  which  no  one  had  ordered.  When 
the  principal  of  an  establishment  wants  to  enlarge 
its  work,  and  the  chief  agent  wants  to  let  its  vacant 
rooms,  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  its  affairs  need  more 
than  mechanical  oiling. 

So  sure  is  this  sign  that  the  story  need  not  stop  to 
describe  Mr.  Hustler's  unfriendly  visit  to  the  office, 
nor  how  he  insisted  on  examining  the  books.  Nor 
need  we  tell  in  detail  how  he  insisted  that  the  presi 
dent  should  call  a  special  stock-meeting,  and,  when  the 
president  refused,  how  he  obtained  the  necessary  sig 
natures  and  called  it  over  the  president's  head.  When 
the  meeting  was  held,  at  half-past  ten  one  morning  in 
the  office,  poor  Mr.  Yance  was  beside  himself  because 
he  could  not  get  the  safe  open.  He  had  two  or  three 


ONLY    A    FLY  277 

locksmiths  to  help  him.  For  Mr.  Eugene  Eipka  had 
not  come  in,  and  only  he  knew  the  combination. 
When  the  safe  was  opened,  in  personal  presence  of  the 
stockholders,  the  books  were  there.  And  Mr.  Vance 
showed,  with  some  pride,  quite  a  large  cash  balance 
which  lie  had  been  hoarding  with  a  view  to  a  dividend. 
But,  alas!  inquiry  at  the  banks  where  this  balance  was 
kept  proved  that  Mr.  Eugene  Eipka  had  drawn  it  all, 
at  several  distinct  periods  of  the  day  before ;  and  in 
quiry  at  his  rooms  showed  that  he  had  not  been  seen 
since  six  in  the  evening. 

He  has  never  been  seen  by  Mr.  Yance  or  the  presi 
dent  since,  and  the  International  Lubricant  is  in  the 
hands  of  a  receiver. 


X. — THE    MORAL 

A  brief  statement  of  this  appeared  in  the  Argus 
the  day  after  Lawrence  and  Clara  were  married.  He 
showed  it  to  her  in  the  palace-car  as  they  started  on 
their  wedding  journey.  He  told  her  the  story,  as  from 
time  to  time  he  had  heard  it  from  his  uncle  Mr.  Smiley, 
who  was  one  of  the  smaller  stockholders. 

"  They  would  say,"  said  he,  "  that  all  this  happened 
because  my  grandmother  killed  a  fly.  But  it  did  hap 
pen,  if  anything  happens,  because  Mr.  Yance  is  lazy, 
the  president  is  obstinate,  and  this  Mr.  Eipka  is  a 
rascal." 

Then,  after  a  pause,  he  said : 

11  Some  would  say  that  you  and  I  are  in  this  car  be 
cause  my  grandmother  killed  a  fly." 


278  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHEKS 

And  Clara  said,  "  But  it  does  happen  because  you 
are  brave  and  kind  and  loving  and  true — "  And  he 
interrupted  her  to  say,  "  And  because  you  are  the  dear 
est  girl  who  lives." 

But  Clara  checked  him  and  said: 

"Because  we  are  all  under  guidance,  and  God  is  on 
the  side  of  people  who  try  to  do  their  duty." 

And  he  said,  "  And  also,  because  some  things  are 
written  in  heaven." 

When  they  came  to  New  York  they  went  to  Tiffa 
ny's  and  picked  out  a  curious  pin,  made  to  represent 
a  large  fly  in  enamel.  It  had  two  eyes  made  from 
small  diamonds. 

They  sent  it  as  their  wedding  present  to  grand 
mamma. 


JOHN  RICH  AND   LUCY  POOR 


I  LIKE  John  Eich.  I  always  liked  him.  We  went 
to  school  together,  and  he  "  prompted "  me  one  day 
when  the  master  asked  me  what  was  the  southern  cape 
of  Greenland.  I  thought  it  was  Cape  Good-bye,  but 
John  Kich  told  me  it  was  Cape  Farewell.  So  I  got  an 
"approbation  card,"  and  John  Eich  got  a  bad  mark 
for  "  communicating." 

People  say  John  Eich  is  lazy.  I  do  not  think  so ; 
and  after  I  have  told  this  story  I  want  some  intelligent 
reader  to  tell  me  if  he  thinks  so.  The  fact  is  that 
some  people  always  think  "  them  littery  fellows  "  are 
laz}^.  Because  we  do  not  always  work  with  our  coats 
off,  and  because  our  hands  are  not  blistered,  people 
think  we  are  lazy.  Just  read  this  story,  and  then  write 
and  tell  me  if  you  think  so. 

John  Eich  was  in  love  with  Lucy  Poor,  and  she  with 
him.  But  her  father  disliked  their  marriage,  because, 
he  said,  John  was  only  one  of  those  literary  fellows, 
and  that  he  had  no  regular  income.  He  said  if  John 
would  go  into  a  bank,  or  apply  himself  to  business, 
that  would  be  one  thing.  But  he  said  that  to  have 
nothing  but  writing  for  a  business,  that  was  another. 

John  was  what  is  called  a  hack-writer.     Macaulav 


280  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

says  the  race  of  Grub  Street  hacks  is  extinct.  I  do 
not  know  where  the  Grub  Street  hacks  have  gone ; 
John  Kich  is  not  at  all  extinct.  Dr.  Johnson,  who 
was  a  hack  himself,  and  a  very  good  one,  too,  does  not 
use  the  word  at  all,  as  I  found  when  I  wrote  my  ex 
cellent  story  of  the  journey  Joshua  Cradock  took  in  a 
hack.  He  went  half  round  the  world  in  one,  and  his 
wife  went  round  the  other  half  in  another,  and  they 
met  at  Lake  Baikal.  But  the  modern  dictionaries  will 
tell  you  that  in  literature  a  man  is  a  hack  who  writes 
what  other  people  want  him  to  write.  Some  of  them 
add  that  he  is  underpaid. 

Now  I  have  a  certain  respect  for  people  who  do 
what  they  are  wanted  to  do.  There  are  people  who 
will  only  do  what  they  themselves  want  to  do.  And  I 
observe  that  they  are  rather  proud  of  this.  But  I  was 
brought  up  in  the  Christian  religion,  in  which  people 
are  taught  to  work  for  others,  if  it  is  honest  work.  So 
I  have  a  certain  affection  for  hacks.  Whether  John 
Kich  is  lazy,  because  he  is  a  hack,  you  shall  see. 


II 

It  is  true  that  John  Rich  never  works  in  the  half- 
hour  after  breakfast.  Not  if  he  can  help  it.  But  on 
this  day  I  am  telling  you  about  he  lay  on  the  sofa, 
which  is  a  good  long  sofa  and  wide,  and  read  To-day. 
Now  To-day  happened  to  say  that  Mr.  Gansevoort's  in 
come  had  been  "  sworn,"  whatever  that  is,  at  three  hun 
dred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  the  last  year.  For 
this  was  all  in  the  antediluvian  days  of  the  income-tax. 


JOHN    RICH    AND    LUCY    POOR  281 

John  Kich  said  to  Miss  Clara,  his  secretary  : 

"  Miss  Clara,  they  talk  of  this  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  as  if  it  were  a  large  income.  Will 
you  tell  me  what  Monte  Cristo's  income  was  ?" 

Miss  Clara  said  that  she  believed  Monte  Cristo's 
fortune  was  seven  million  dollars,  and  that  his  income 
was,  if  estimated  at  five  per  cent. — and  here  John  Rich 
interrupted  her,  and  said : 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so.  Five  times  seven  is  thirty-five. 
That  is  only  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars 
a  year.  And  Gansevoort  has  the  same  income  as 
Monte  Cristo.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  how  much 
that  is  in  a  day — I  mean,  how  much  it  makes  if  there 
are  three  hundred  and  thirteen  days  in  a  year?  Leap- 
year  does  not  come  often."  • 

Miss  Clara  did  her  little  sum  promptly,  and  said  that 
Monte  Cristo's  and  Mr.  Gansevoort's  income  was  eleven 
hundred  and  eighteen  dollars  a  day.  Did  he  mind  the 
cents? 

No,  John  Rich  said  he  did  not  mind  the  cents. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  said,  "  that  when  you  and  I  do 
four  thousand  words  in  an  hour,  at  three  cents  a  word, 
that  is  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  an  hour.  Nine 
hours  would  be  one  thousand  and  eighty  dollars.  There 
will  be  thirty-eight  dollars  more  needed,  and  we  should 
do  thirty-eight  dollars  in  nineteen  minutes  more." 

Miss  Clara  said  yes.  But  she  said  that  really  there 
were  more  than  thirty-eight  dollars  to  care  for ;  there 
were  thirty-eight  dollars  and  twenty-one  cents. 

"  Could  you  get  Miss  Annie  and  Louise  and  Hattie 
and  that  little  black -eyed  girl  to  help  us?  Perhaps 
Ysabel  would  come,  and  Helen  and  Mabel." 


282 


SUSAN'S    ESCORT,    AND    OTHERS 


Miss  Clara  said  she  would  see.  If  not,  there  was  the 
German  lady,  who  would  like  to  come,  and  Mrs.  William 
Penn,  who  was  on  the  staff  before  she  was  married, 
was  now  on  a  visit  in  town.  She  would  like  to  come. 

So  John  Eich  asked  her  to  telegraph  to  these  ladies, 
and  if  they  could  not  come  to  make  up  the  full  staff  of 
ten.  And  he  never  said  another  word  about  it.  Miss 
Clara  did  the  whole.  How  well  she  did  it  you  shall 
see. 


Ill 

John  Rich,  you  must  know,  is  a  favorite  with  editors. 
I  will  tell  you  why.  First,  as  has  been  intimated,  he 
is  not  above  his  business.  He  is  a  hack,  and  he  knows 
it.  This  means  that  he  is  willing  to  do  what  other 
people  want,  as  well  as  he  can.  He  has  no  nonsense 
about  its  being  another  man's  place  to  do  it,  or  that  this 
or  that  should  not  be  expected  of  him.  Then  he  has 
no  nonsense  about  waiting  for  an  inspiration,  if  the 
work  has  to  be  done  to-day.  His  work  is  ready,  I 
mean,  when  he  says  it  shall  be.  If  you  write  to  him 
for  an  article  on  Baffin's  Bay,  and  he  says  you  shall 
have  it  February  31st,  you  will  have  it  on  the  31st 
of  February,  whenever  that  day  comes  round,  as  well 
done  as  he  can  write  it.  Maybe  Admiral  Belcher 
would  make  a  better  article,  but  this  is  John  Rich's 
best,  and  you  know  it  is.  There  it  is,  absolutely  ready 
for  the  press.  Not  a  comma  wanting  —  not  a  gaiter 
button,  as  Napoleon  the  Little  said.  And  it  is  just  as 
long  as  he  promised,  and  as  short.  Did  his  first  note 
say  four  hundred  and  twelve  words?  The  second 


JOHN    KICH    AND    LUCY    POOR  283 

note,  which  goes  with  the  article,  will  not  say,  "  I  have 
overrun  your  limit,  but  you  can  cut  it  down." 

More  than  this,  he  never  rolled  up  any  copy  in  his 
life.  He  would  die  first. 

Now  from  all  this  it  happens  that  his  copy  is  ready 
for  press  the  moment  it  enters  the  editor's  office.  Sup 
pose  that  editor  wants  to  go  to  the  farewell  dinner  to 
Sir  Walter  Besant,  and  suppose  he  has  two  forms  of  the 
magazine  to  make  up.  Here  comes  in  John  Rich's  ar 
ticle  at  the  moment  when  the  editors  cab-horse  is  paw 
ing  impatiently  at  the  door,  as  John  Rich  would  not 
say.  The  editor  is  perfectly  sure  that  he  has  what  he 
asked  for.  He  sends  the  article  up  to  the  printing- 
office,  knowing  that  it  will  be  all  right.  It  will  not 
say  that  William  III.  was  the  uncle  of  John  Lackland. 
Far  better  than  this,  it  will  not  overrun  the  space  given 
to  it.  Its  proof  has  been  read  in  the  typewriter  copy 
before  it  came  to  the  editor.  So  the  editor  gives  it  out 
at  once,  goes  to  the  dinner-party,  and  the  next  time  he 
meets  John  Rich  asks  him  for  six  more  articles. 

All  which  it  might  be  wished  that  young  writers 
would  remember. 

In  the  case  of  our  story,  John  Rich  told  Miss  Clara 
that  she  might  write  to  Mr.  McClure  this  note  : 

"DEAR  MR.  McCLURE, — I  will  send  on  Mondays  for  your  syn 
dicate  a  leader  for  weeklies  of  eight  hundred  words.  The  old  terms. 
Let  me  know  if  you  wish  them  longer  or  shorter. 

"  Always  yours,  JOHN  RICH." 

And  he  said  to  Miss  Clara : 

"  Same  to  Irving  Syndicate,  New  Syndicate,  Amer 
ican  Syndicate,  Bacheller  Syndicate,  and  Live  Question 


284  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

Bureau,  only  changing  Monday,  of  course,  to  Tuesday, 
Wednesday,  etc.  One  a  day  here."  And  Miss  Clara 
wrote  the  six  notes  that  morning,  and  he  signed  them. 
Then  he  dictated  these  notes  : 

"DEAR  ALLEN, — I  will  begin  'The  Memoir  of  the  Century'  at 
once.     You  suggested  eight  thousand  two  hundred  words  a  number. 
Let  it  be  so.     The  book  is  mine  after  twelve  months.     The  old  rate. 
"  Always  yours,  JOHN  RICH." 

And  he  said  to  Miss  Clara : 

"  Same  to  L'Estrange  for  the  serial  novel.  Say  we 
will  send  the  title  when  he  wants  it.  They  like  it  to 
run  ten  numbers. 

"  Same,  changing  what  is  necessary,  to  Hariy.  He 
wants  short  love  stories,  alternating  with  adventure. 
Look  at  his  note.  I  think  they  are  seven  thousand 
four  hundred  words— something  to  fit  their  pages.  Of 
course,  we  do  what  they  wish." 

Then  John  Rich  made  some  notes  on  his  blotting- 
paper,  and  asked  Miss  Clara  to  look  up  the  advertise 
ment  of  the  Chicago  HeraWs  prize  competition.  "  I 
do  not  mean  to  try  for  their  stories.  We  have  too 
many  now  to  write.  But  what  they  call  an  Epic 
pleased  me.  I  will  try  that  on  alternate  days  for  ten 
days.  That  will  give  you  young  ladies  an  hour  off  on 
those  days.  You  can  arrange  about  the  hours  with  the 
other  ladies.  I  like  to  have  you  first  after  breakfast, 
and  first  after  lunch.  And,  Miss  Clara,  please  have  a 
riding-skirt  here,  or  wear  up  something  in  the  morning 
with  which  you  can  mount  a  horse.  Pleasant  days  we 
shall  want  to  get  some  air.  And,  if  you  can  help  it,  do 
not  engage  any  one  who  is  afraid  of  a  boat,  or  who 


JOHN    KICH    AND    LUCY    POOR  285 

does  not  row  well.  We  shall  want  to  be  on  the  river 
or  the  harbor  afternoons.  Before  breakfast  I  like  to 
be  alone." 

"I  could  come  round  then  just  as  well,"  said  Miss 
Clara,  inquiringly. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  John,  "  we  will  take  it  easily.  I 
should  be  sorry  to  forget  how  to  make  p  and  q.  As 
things  stand,  there  are  eleven  letters  of  the  alphabet 
which  I  write  in  exactly  the  same  way. 

"  Now  we  will  clear  off  the  mail,  and  then  we  can 
go  to  work  to-morrow  morning." 


IV 

And  so  they  did,  if  you  call  this  work.  Lucy  Poor's 
father  does  not,  as  I  told  you.  Tuesday  morning  John 
Rich  got  out  of  bed  at  twenty-three  minutes  before 
seven,  as  he  always  does.  He  dressed,  and  in  his  room, 
by  his  desk,  found  a  nice  cup  of  coffee  ready  for  him. 
He  wrote  that  leader,  which  I  think  you  may  remem 
ber,  called  "  Forests  and  Sinking  Funds."  The  New 
Syndicate  placed  it  in  twenty-three  Sunday  papers  on 
the  twelfth  day  after.  Then  John  Rich  took  To-day 
and  lay  on  the  sofa  till  his  breakfast-bell  rang,  lie 
was  ready  for  his  breakfast,  and  his  breakfast  was 
ready  for  him.  Then  he  walked  round  the  garden,  he 
wrote  Lucy  Poor  a  little  note,  he  ordered  Doogue  to 
send  her  a  box  of  flowers.  She  lived,  alas  !  eight  miles 
away,  at  Waban.  At  half-past  eight  Miss  Clara  came 
in.  She  was  quite  ready  for  the  ride.  But  they  had 
their  stent  of  four  thousand  words  to  do  first.  John 


286  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

lay  on  the  sofa,  she  sat  at  her  desk,  and  he  dictated. 
It  was  that  story  of  "  The  Pine-tree  and  the  Palm." 
You  read  it  that  day  you  went  up  the  North  River, 
when  you  forgot  to  look  at  the  scenery.  John  had  it 
all  in  mind — had  had  it  in  mind  since  he  thought  of  it 
at  the  Alpha  Delta  dinner.  Both  he  and  Miss  Clara 
were  in  good  condition  for  writing,  and  in  thirty-two 
minutes  and  fourteen  seconds  the  work  was  done  in 
her  pretty  short-hand. 

John  had  been  putting  on  his  shoes  and  gaiters  ever 
since  the  fence  broke  down — in  the  story,  you  remem 
ber — while  the  blind  boy  ran  for  the  doctor,  and  missed 
the  way. 

"  Boot  and  saddle !"  he  cried,  when  he  saw  that  Miss 
Clara's  pencil  had  reached  the  bottom  of  page  twenty. 
"  Boot  and  saddle  !"  and  they  both  mounted.  He  lives 
just  out  of  town.  Miss  Clara  rides  well,  and  they  go 
so  often  that  the  horses,  though  they  are  hired,  know 
their  riders.  They  both  knew,  Miss  Clara  and  John 
Rich,  that  they  had  saved  the  time  for  the  ride  by 
writing  fast,  and  that  Madame  Gutenschrift  would  be 
at  her  desk  in  sixty  minutes  from  the  time  they  started. 
But,  with  the  Park  and  the  Arboretum  and  the  Brook- 
way  and  the  Fen-way,  you  can  have  a  good  scamper 
in  eighty  minutes,  and  so  at  one  minute  past  ten  John 
was  at  the  work-room  again,  and  Miss  Clara  hanging 
up  her  hat  before  she  sat  down  in  the  Round- room  at 
her  pet  typewriter. 

Typewriters  are  quite  human,  and  they  know  their 
mistresses  and  are  known  of  them. 


JOHN    RICH    AND    LUCY    POOR 


As  for  John  Kich,  he  went  into  his  own  room  and 
shook  hands  with  Madame  Gutenschrift,  who  was  an 
old  friend.  I  do  not  myself  think  that  madamc  writes 
nearly  as  fast  as  Miss  Clara  does.  But  she  thinks  she 
does.  And  it  made  no  difference ;  for  in  the  Me 
moirs  you  have  to  look  up  the  authorities,  and  there 
is  more  or  less  walking  around  and  marking  passages 
for  copying. 

"  Good-morning,  madam e.  You  look  as  if  you  were 
glad  to  be  at  honest  work  again."  Madame  laughed, 
and  said  that  everything  seemed  natural.  And  John 
began,  even  as  he  unbuttoned  his  gaiters  : 

aOn  the  1st  of  January,  1801,  men  thought  that," 
etc.,  etc.  Is  it  not  written,  or  printed,  in  the  first 
volume  of  the  Memoirs  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  ? 
He  walked  up  and  down  for  a  little  while.  He  then 
lay  on  the  sofa  with  a  rug  drawn  over  his  feet.  Sharp 
at  eleven  Nora  came  in  with  two  cups  of  coffee,  that 
kind  which  is  the  color  of  the  cheek  of  a  brunette  in 
Seville,  and  with  a  little  plate  of  those  nice  stamped 
biscuits,  like  miniature  waffles,  which  come  in  tin  boxes 
from  Peek  &  Frean.  John  stopped  long  enough  to 
thank  Nora,  and  he  sipped  his  coffee  as  he  walked  up 
and  down.  As  for  madame,  she  had  to  take  her 
chances  for  hers  when  he  paused  in  dictation  to  take 
down  a  volume  of  the  Annual  Register.  So  they 
forged  on,  she,  brave  little  woman,  never  flinching. 
Her  book  was  paged,  as  all  the  books  were,  and  ruled 
for  two-hundred  words  a  page,  so  that  he  need  only 


288  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

look  over  her  shoulder  to  see  where  they  were.  But 
he  knew  the  rate  so  well  that  he  did  not  even  look 
over  her  shoulder.  The  stream  flowed  on  placidly  and 
surely  till  quarter  of  twelve,  and  then  he  said  : 

"  Where  are  we,  madame?" 

"We  have  just  turned  thirty-nine." 

"Good,"  said  John.  "I  guessed  as  much.  I  hope 
you  are  not  too  tired.  We  are  nearly  through." 

This  meant  that  the  little  woman,  with  all  his  stops 
and  waits,  had  written  her  seven  thousand  eight  hun 
dred  words  in  an  hour  and  three-quarters.  Two  hun 
dred  words  more  filled  the  morning's  stent,  and  in  less 
than  a  hundred  seconds  John  dictated  them,  coming 
out  at "  may  be  surprised  to  hear  that  at  such  an  era — " 

"That  will  do  for  to-day,  madame.  There  will  be 
lunch  in  the  Round-room,  and  some  of  the  other  ladies 
are  there.  I  shall  walk  in  the  garden." 


VI 

John  Kich  had,  and  still  has,  what  the  makers  ad 
vertise  as  a  "gentle  lure  to  exercise."  It  is  a  very 
small  sickle  on  the  end  of  a  hoe-handle.  It  is  a  tool 
with  which  you  can  stir  up  the  hard  ground  or  cut 
out  pigweed  or  "  pussly  "  without  stooping.  As  John 
walked  round  with  his  gentle  lure  you  might  mistake 
him  for  a  shepherd  with  his  crook  if  the  costume  had 
fitted.  So  John  walked  up  and  down  in  his  garden  for 
the  hour  from  twelve  to  one,  most  of  the  time  in  the 
hemlock  avenue.  But  when  he  came  to  a  bed  of 
shortia  or  of  pansies  he  would  tickle  the  ground  with 


JOHN    RICH    AND    LUCY    POOR  289 

the  gentle  lure.  He  was  turning  over  the  lines  of  the 
prologue  of  the  prize  poem.  This  is  a  good  place  to 
say  that  it  took  the  prize  four  months  after. 

He  had  just  finished,  to  his  mind,  that  fine  verse 
which  you  will  remember,  which  ends  with  the  line, 

"Where  should  the  soldier  rest  but  where  he  fell  ?" 

when  the  rattle  of  a  carriage  drew  him  to  the  garden 
gate  that  he  might  be  hospitable. 

The  carriage  was  the  Poors'  carry-all.  But,  alas! 
Lucy  was  not  in  it.  Mr.  Poor  and  the  two  smallest 
children  and  Mrs.  Poor  made  the  party,  with  Asaph, 
who  drove. 

"  No,  we  cannot  stop  a  minute.  We  are  late  now. 
Only  Lucy  sent  round  these  lilies-of- the- valley  to  Miss 
Clara,  and  I  believe  there  is  a  note  for  you." 

And  so  the  carry-all  drove  away.  And  as  it  went 
Mr.  Poor  said,  in  a  half- whisper,  which  even  Asaph  over 
heard,  and  in  a  grumbling  tone  : 

"  Think  of  a  young  fellow  like  that,  who  might  be 
at  honest  work,  -fooling  round  in  the  garden  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  day  !" 

Mr.  Poor  did  not  refer  to  what  he  was  himself  doino-. 


VII 

John  went  in,  called  Miss  Clara  from  the  Hound- 
room,  and  gave  her  Lucy's  flowers.  This  was  after 
he  had  read  Lucy's  note.  Then  he  dictated  to  Miss 
Clara  the  verses  he  had  been  hammering  on  while  he 

used  the  "gentle  lure."     It  took  literally  but  two  min 
is 


290  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

utes — "  it  is  so  hard  to  make  them  in  poetry."  Then  he 
called  Miss  Clara  back  with  him  to  the  Round-room, 
where  all  the  staff  were,  coming  or  going.  Madame 
Gutenschrift  even  had  her  "  things  "  on,  for  some  after 
noon  shopping,  before  she  began  to  put  her  eight 
thousand  words  through  the  typewriter. 

The  buzz  of  talk  ceased,  a  little  slowly,  as  they  saw 
that  the  chief  had  something  to  say. 

"  Ladies,  all,"  he  said,  "  here  is  a  note  from  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Viking,  who  will  like  to  take  us  all,  or  as  many 
as  will  go,  off  in  the  Undine.  There  is  just  a  good 
sailing  wind,  and  she  will  be  at  the  Point  at  sharp 
2.40.  We  shall  go  from  here  in  the  electric,  and  those 
of  you  who  want  to  get  your  best  bonnets  must  turn 
up  as  you  can.  We  may  not  be  back  till  eight.  But 
there  will  be  some  sort  of  shebang  to  bring  us 
home." 

At  this  announcement  there  was  general  glee,  for  the 
girls  had  all  rather  be  on  the  sea,  in  decent  weather, 
than  in  the  work-room.  Then  John  Rich  took  his 
own  lunch — clam  chowder  ad  lib.,  and  coffee  likewise. 
Then  he  lay  clown  and  slept  an  hour.  This  gave  him 
and  Miss  Clara  just  ten  minutes  to  go  to  the  Point,  and 
at  sharp  2.40  they,  with  all  the  young  ladies,  were 
on  the  Undine.  Old  Captain  Carver,  the  skipper, 
nodded  with  an  approving  smile,  hauled  in  the  gang 
way  plank  with  his  own  hand,  and  cast  off. 

The  Undine  swept  out  gracefully,  and  all  was  well. 
The  girls  all  adjusted  themselves  to  their  favorite  seats, 
lounging-places,  and  partners,  as  if  Mrs. -Viking's  hos 
pitality  were  not  a  novelty  to  them. 

As  for  John  Rich,  he  called  Miss  Ysabel;  they  found 


JOHN    KICK    AND    LUCY    POOR  291 

a  cool  place  in  the  shade  of  the  forward  water-tank, 
and  he  began  on  the  serial  novel. 

"I  do  not  know  that  you  will  agree  with  me,"  he 
had  said  to  Miss  Clara.  "  You  and  I  take  the  short 
story  first,  because  we  have  to  be  fresh  then.  I  have 
put  the  serial  novel  after  lunch— well,  you  see,  don't 
you?  Then  the  'Reminiscences,'  and  the  'Calendar.' 
and  the  'Personals' — any  fool  could  do  them,  even  if 
he  were  sitting  on  a  jury." 

So  he  gave  Miss  Ysabel  four  thousand  words  of  the 
serial.  It  was  written  on  the  Trollope  plan,  which  is 
a  very  good  one.  You  take  a  skeleton  story  down  from 
your  closet,  and  hang  upon  it  the  talk  and  the  inci 
dent  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  Miss  Ysabel  writes 
fast ;  she  did  the  four  thousand  by  quarter-past  four. 
Then  John  had  a  frolic  with  Oscar  Viking,  chasing 
him  from  one  end  of  the  boat  to  the  other,  and  hid 
ing  from  him  in  the  launch.  But  by  half-past  four 
Oscar  was  tired.  John  beckoned  Miss  Louise,  and 
they  finished  the  first  part  of  the  serial.  It  was  going 
to  the  Century,  and  they  like  eight  thousand  two  hun 
dred  words  there. 

Mrs.  Viking  liked  to  put  the  children  to  bed  early, 
and  so  the  yacht  rounded  to  at  the  Point  just  at  seven 
o'clock.  John  and  Miss  Clara  went  up  in  the  street 
car  together,  on  the  back  seat. 

"We  have  had  a  good  time,"  he  said,  "and  now 
there  is  nothing  to  do  which  will  keep  anybody  awake. 
A  fly  could  do  the  '  Personals '  and  the  '  Calendar '  and 
not  know  he  had  touched  them." 

"  That  indeed,"  said  Miss  Clara ;  and  she  bade  him 
good-bye.  Then  the  car  stopped  and  she  went  home, 


292  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

sure  she  should  find  a  nice  letter  from  Will  Watrous. 
And  she  did.  Good  girl.  She  went  to  bed  early,  and 
she  slept  as  good  angels  sleep,  and  was  up  at  five  in  the 
morning,  so  that  all  her  day's  work  was  on  typewriter 
before  eight  the  next  day. 

As  for  John,  he  went  into  the  house  with  Miss  Louise 
and  Miss  Mabel.  As  he  said,  they  had  nothing  but 
the  "Personals"  and  the  "Calendar,"  the  least  possible 
work,  though  the  best  paid,  as  a  reckless  world  orders. 
Every  girl  had  brought  in  her  contribution  in  writing 
that  morning.  Miss  Clara  had  told  them  that  they 
had  to  furnish  ten  each.  John  had  marked  with  red 
pencil  all  there  was  in  his  mails,  and  these  Miss  Lilian 
had  copied.  After  afternoon  tea  on  the  deck  he  had 
dictated  every  word  of  gossip  which  Mrs.  Viking  had 
told  him,  or  of  such  as  her  husband  had  brought  from 
the  club.  So  now,  as  he  took  scrap  by  scrap  from  the 
trayful  of  this  stuff  which  lay  beside  him,  he  had  only 
to  read,  hardly  to  change  the  language  of  the  words 
before  him,  as  he  dictated  : 

"  Miss  Alice  Black  has  accepted  the  position  of  gov 
erness  in  the  family  of  Kev.  Dean  Golightly  in  Copake." 

"Mr.  Frank  Jones  has  joined  the  party  to  go  to 
Baffin's  Bay  in  search  for  Mr.  Peary." 

"  Mrs.  Cleveland  has  changed  her  nurse,  and  Miss 
Bridget  Sullivan  takes  the  place  of  Miss  Nora  Shay," 
and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

"  The  only  thing  you  have  to  be  careful  about,"  said 
John  to  Miss  Louise,  who  was  new  at  all  this,  "  is  that 
by  no  accident  shall  one  word  of  the  least  possible  in 
terest,  value,  or  use  to  anybody  creep  in.  That  belongs 
in  the  news  columns,  but  not  in  '  Personals.' " 


JOHN    KICK    AND    LTJCY    POOR  293 

And  so  Louise  went  off  to  copy  her  four  thousand 
words,  and  by  9.30  Miss  Mabel  had  taken  hers.  Those 
were  the  scraps  of  history  of  what  has  happened  on 
the  21st  of  July,  since  on  that  particular  day  of  the 
month  Adam  asked  Eve  to  give  him  an  old-fashioned 
white  rose.  Of  course  John  had  made  ready  for  this 
all  through  the  last  year.  All  is,  as  you  read,  when 
there  is  a  date  in  history,  you  mark  that  passage  for 
copying,  taking  care  only  to  mark  about  four  thousand 
words  a  day.  These  index  themselves-  as  soon  as  they 
are  copied,  and  when  you  get  round  to  that  day  in  your 
work,  why,  there  you  are.  It  is  the  only  work,  except 
"  Personals  "  and  "  Pleasantries,"  which  does  itself  and 
requires  no  thought.  So  it  is  best  to  leave  it  to  the 
end  of  the  day. 

Then  John  took  his  hat  and  went  down  to  the  Cas 
tle  Theatre,  where  they  were  doing  A  Fool  and  His 
Money,  and  they  did  it  very  well.  John  had  a  good 
laugh  with  the  Trenholms  for  an  hour,  and  came  home 
and  went  to  bed. 

Lucy  Poor's  father  was  also  at  the  Castle  Theatre. 
He  did  not  like  to  talk  to  Lucy  about  her  lover,  for  he 
was  fond  of  her,  as  every  one  is.  But  as  he  undressed 
that  night  he  said  to  her  mother : 

"  That  lazy  dog,  John  Eich,  was  lounging  at  the 
theatre  to-night ;  and  this  afternoon  as  we  came  up  the 
harbor  I  saw  him  fooling  with  some  boys  on  Viking's 
boat.  You  know  what  he  was  doing  at  his  own  house 
when  we  called  there.  He  certainly  knows  how  to 
waste  time  better  than  any  one  I  ever  saw." 

Mrs.  Poor  did  have  the  spirit  to  say,  "  My  dear  Le- 


294  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

onidas,  if  you  had  not  been  in  those  three  places  you 
would  not  have  seen  him." 

Then  Leonidas  changed  the  subject,  and  they  went  to 
bed. 

And  so  on,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  As  the  reader  has 
noticed  in  reading  biography,  the  life  of  "  these  littery 
fellars"  furnishes  little  incident.  John  rose  the  next 
day  at  twenty-three  minutes  before  seven,  and  the  next, 
and  the  next,  and  always.  On  the  particular  Wednes 
day  which  is  the  second  day  of  this  story,  he  wrote  his 
"  Syndicate  Leader  "  for  the  Irving  Syndicate  instead 
of  McClure's  Syndicate,  but  that  change  is  not  much  of 
an  "  incident,"  even  in  a  short  story.  At  eight  Miss 
Clara  came  in  as  fresh  as  a  rose.  She  did  not  say  so, 
but  she  had  just  had  another  charming  letter  from  Will 
Watrous.  It  came  in  her  morning  deliver}7. 

"Were  the  girls  tired  last  night?"  said  John  Rich,  a 
little  anxiously. 

"  Tired  ?     Not  a  bit !     It  was  a  nice  lark." 

Did  Miss  Clara  think  they  could  stand  the  pace? 
Why,  of  course  she  did.  Of  course  they  could.  Really 
there  was  more  force  than  was  needed.  There  was 
always  one  understudy  to  fill  any  gaps. 

"That's  the  use  of  the  Champollion  finger-board, 
and  having  you  all  write  alike.  When  we  go  into 
politics  we  will  make  everybody  do  that.  Let  it  be 
our  '  Leader'  for  the  American  Syndicate."  And  Miss 
Clara  made  a  minute  on  Thursday's  tickler. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?" 

"  Quite  so." 

And  so  they  finished  "  The  Pine-tree  and  the  Palm  " 


JOHN    RICH    AND    LUCY    POOR  295 

two  thousand  words  more — and  began  "The  Pink 

Pond-lily  "  for  Scribner's. 

After  lunch  Miss  Clara  was  able  to  bring  John  the 
day-book  of  the  day  before,  with  the  total. 

"  We  overran  a  little,"  she  said.  "  Without  counting 
the  Epic,  we  made  forty-one  thousand  words." 

They  never  counted,  nor  pretended  to  count,  the  tens 
and  units.  Hundreds  were  all  they  cared  for. 

"Without  the  Epic,"  said  he.  "That  is,  after  all, 
the  fun  of  the  competitions.  They  introduce  the  ele 
ment  of  uncertainty.  If  not,  I  would  have  written 
to  Aldrich  and  Stedman  and  Miss  Thomas  and  Miss 
Munro  and  asked  them  squarely  if  they  were  going  into 
this  one.  But  one  always  enjoys  a  lottery." 

And  so  they  went  on.  The  only  really  uniform 
thing  was  John's  walk  with  his  "  gentle  lure "  every 
second  day  as  he  worked  out  the  Epic.  For  the  rest, 
madam e  did  not  always  have  the  "Memoirs,"  nor 
Ysabel  the  serial,  nor  any  one  person  what  John  called 
the  "  idiot's  work,"  of  evenings. 

"  It  is  but  fair  to  change  hands,"  he  said.  "  No  one 
can  stand  the  same  thing  forever.  I  should  die  if  it 
were  not  for  the  variety." 

At  the  end  of  the  month  Miss  Clara  showed  to  John 
Rich  the  ledger  account  made  up  to  the  thirty  -  first 
day  : 

Twenty-six  days,  as  per  footing,  page  111. .  1,108,600  words 

An  Epic,  "  The  Sword  and  Plough  " 1,300      " 

(Epic  uncertain  until  October  15th,  when  prizes  will  be 
awarded.) 

1,108,600  words,  at  3  cents  a  word,  is $33,258.00 

Of  this,  $11,120.00  has  been  paid  on  the  delivery  of  man 
uscript  and  deposited. 


296  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

The  inexperienced  reader  should  understand  that 
there  are  three  classes  of  publishers : 

1st.  Those  who  pay  on  the  delivery  of  goods.  Such 
are  Harper's,  McClure's,  the  Century,  and  the  Outlook. 

2d.  Those  who  pay  on  the  printing  of  the  articles. 
Such  are  the  Thunderer,  the  Unfortunates',  and  the 
Firefly. 

3d.  Those  who  say  they  will  pay  on  delivery,  and  do 
not  pay  at  all.  Such  are  the  Penny  Trumpet  and  the 
Catch-me-not. 

So  that  afternoon  John  Rich  wrote  a  note  to  Phile- 
tus  Baring,  who  was  his  classmate,  and  asked  him  to 
buy  as  many  Refined  Sugar  bonds,  which  guarantee 
seven  per  cent,  interest,  as  $11,120  would  pay  for. 

The  President  of  the  hour  had  proposed  two  or  three 
wars  the  week  before,  so  the  market  was  deranged, 
and  John  got  his  seven-per-cents.  at  ninety-five  and  a 
quarter. 

The  next  morning  he  excused  Madame  Gutenschrift, 
ordered  a  cab,  and  went  down -town  to  the  Thread- 
needle  Street  of  the  town.  Philetus  gave  him  the 
bonds,  and  told  him  the  market  had  already  rallied. 

John  took  his  bonds  to  the  Second  National  and 
deposited  them  as  collateral.  The  well-pleased  cashier 
was  glad  to  lend  him  $10,000  at  four-and-a-half  per 
cent,  on  such  excellent  gilt-edged  security. 

John  went  back  to  Philetus's  office  and  bought 
$10,000  more  of  bonds.  He  carried  these  to  the  bank 
and  deposited  them,  and  the  cashier  lent  him  $9000 
more  on  that  security. 

John  went  back  to  Philetus  and  bought  $8400  more 
of  bonds,  And  so  on  for  an  hour  he  went  backward 


JOHN    RICH    AND    LUCY    POOR  297 

and  forward.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  by  the  prudent 
use  of  his  $11,000,  he  had  bought  some  §50,000  face 
value  of  seven-per-cent.  bonds.  He  would  receive  on 
them  $3500  a  year.  On  $40,000  of  the  money  he  would 
pay  $1800  interest.  That  is  to  say,  he  would  receive 
$1700  to  pay  him  for  his  two  hours'  work  in  going 
backward  and  forward  from  the  bank  to  the  broker. 
But  he  took  all  the  risk  of  the  Sugar  Company's  going 
to  the  dogs. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  John  to  Miss  Clara,  when  she 
entered  the  transaction  on  the  books,  "  I  had  rather 
have  written  a  short  story.  But  this  is  what  men  call 
'doing  business.'  You  do  not  add  a  barleycorn  to  the 
wealth  of  the  world,  but  somebody  pays  you  a  thou 
sand  or  two  dollars  for  doing  it." 

Mr.  Poor  was  the  brother-in-law  of  an  under-teller 
in  the  Second  National.  So  he  heard  of  this  transac 
tion,  which  should  have  been  confidential;  and  he  be 
gan  to  wonder  if  John  Eich  had  in  him,  after  all,  the 
making  of  a  man  of  business. 

Things  would  not  always  run  so  smoothly.  For, 
alas,  this  is  a  finite  world !  One  Friday  afternoon,  for 
instance,  John  had  gone  out  to  meet  an  engagement. 
He  had  pressed  every  one  in  the  morning,  and  so  had 
gained  an  hour,  and  he  had  told  Miss  Louise  that  he 
must  keep  her  half  an  hour  late  and  she  must  stay  to 
dine.  All  this  that  he  might  preside  at  the  annual 
meeting  of  the  Society  for  Providing  Occupation  for 
Badly  Educated  Ladies,  of  which  he  was  vice-president. 
Mrs.  Randolph,  the  president,  had  "had  a  stroke." 

He  gave  his  hour  and  a  half  to  counting  in  a  quorum, 


298  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

laying  on  the  table,  and  ruling  on  points  of  order — all 
of  it  good  honest  time,  worth  five  cents  for  every  sec 
ond — and  he  came  home.  On  his  desk  was  a  pencil 
note  from  Lucy : 

"  I  came  round  hoping  you  could  join  me.  So  sorry  you  arc 
out!  Here  are  some  pansies  for  your  button-hole." 

So  much  for  public  spirit  and  saving  the  world ! 

But  John  Rich  fined  himself  for  this.  The  next 
morning,  before  Miss  Clara  began  on  the  short  story 
for  the  day,  he  said  : 

"  We  have  had  forty  -  five  days  of  this,  Miss  Clara. 
How  do  the  girls  stand  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Kich,  you  know  they  enjoy  it !  You  know 
how  fond  they  are  of  each  other!  They  count  it  all 
a  lark  —  it  is  so  much  better  than  office -work,  you 
know." 

"  And  you,"  he  said,  almost  paternally,  "  how  do  you 
stand  it  ?" 

"  Do  I  look  ill  ?"  said  she,  turning  round  with  her 
pretty  blush.  "Miss  Lucy  said  I  was  the  picture  of 
health." 

"  Then  you  would  try  three  months  of  it?" 

"  Three  months  ?  Three  years !"  said  the  brave 
girl. 

"  Three  months  let  it  be,"  said  John.  "  And  write 
for  Miss  Annie.  I  see  that  old  Mr.  Lancelot  is  dead, 
and  she  will  be  free  again." 

"I  hope  she  takes  no  one's  place  ?"  asked  Miss  Clara, 
anxiously. 

"  Oh  no !  We  cannot  spare  one  of  them.  We  may 
need  one  or  two  more." 


JOHN   RICH   AND    LUCY    POOR  299 

So  the  stent  was  increased  some  days  from  nine 
hours  to  ten.  And  they  contracted  for  twelve  chapters 
of  "  Reminiscences." 

The  next  month  followed  much  as  by  pattern.  You 
see  that  this  "  litrary  fooling" — as  Leonidas  Poor  called 
it  which  he  could  not  call  work — differs  from  work  in 
some  points  where  it  has  an  advantage.  For  instance, 
John  took  the  whole  party  to  Weirs,  on  Lake  Win- 
nipiseogee,  for  a  change.  He  sent  down  six  new  Cham- 
pollion  typewriters  the  day  before;  and  after  lunch 
they  all  took  the  afternoon  train  to  Weirs.  It  is,  you 
know,  a  lovely  ride. 

You  can  write  in  a  good  car  on  a  good  railwaj^  not 
as  handsomely,  but  nearly  as  legibly,  as  you  can  at 
home.  So  John  did  his  afternoon  stents  with  Miss 
Ysabel  and  Miss  Hattie  as  they  rode,  and  they  had  the 
scenery  ready  to  his  eye  and  to  everybody's  pencils. 
So  he  wrote  that  day  the  blood-curdling  story  of  Mrs. 
Dustin  and  the  Pennacook  Indians,  that  you  read  in 
Frank  Leslie.  Mrs.  Penn,  who  holds'  a  light  pencil,  did 
the  illustrations  for  it  evenings.  Readers  from  a  dis 
tance  should  understand  that  as  they  travelled  they 
were  on  the  route  of  Mrs.  Dustin's  captivity,  and  that 
they  saw  the  bronze  statue  of  the  heroine  planted  in 
the  place  where  she  killed  the  Indian. 

You  get  up  to  Weirs  about  five  o'clock.  Their  rooms 
had  been  ordered,  and  Mr.  At \vood  gave  them  a  good 
supper.  In  the  ride  they  had  picked  up  any  amount  of 
" Personal"  from  the  friends  who  had  come  in  to  in 
terrupt  them.  And  in  the  evening,  while  John  dic 
tated  the  "Personal"  and  the  "Calendar,"  the  girls 


300  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

were  out  on  the  lake  in  canoes  or  boats.  There  proved 
to  be  a  good  many  young  men  whom  they  knew  who 
had  come  down  on  the  morning  train.  Will  Watrous 
was  there,  and  young  Viking,  and  his  classmate  Olaf, 
and  three  or  four  more.  So  that  evening,  and  indeed 
all  the  evenings  of  the  week,  went  very  pleasantly. 

When  the  Globe  announced  in  its  "Personals"  of 
Thursday  that  Mr.  John  Rich  was  at  the  hotel  at 
Weirs,  Mr.  Poor  passed  the  paper  across  to  his  wife, 
with  a  wicked  thumb-nail  mark  against  that  paragraph. 

"  That's  the  way  he  wastes  his  time,"  he  said,  vicious 
ly — "  a  man  who  really  has  some  eye  for  business." 

All  the  same,  when  Miss  Clara  got  back  to  the  ledger 
Saturday  night,  she  entered  on  the  credit  side  242,700 
words  for  the  week.  At  three  cents  a  word,  this  made 
$7281.  For  that  week  they  beat  Mr.  Gansevoort.  Mr. 
Gansevoort's  income  was  only  §6730.73  in  a  week. 
And  he  had  all  the  risk  of  that  President  who  was  so 
fond  of  making  wars. 

"People  will  keep  on  reading  short  stories  and  news 
papers,"  said  John  Rich,  "though  there  should  be 
eleven  rumors  of  twelve  wars." 

All  this  would  stop  once  a  week,  on  Saturday  after 
noon.  Thanks  to  the  beneficent  institution  of  Sunday, 
as  John  Rich  would  say,  there  was  one  day  when  a 
man  did  not  have  to  think  of  leaders,  or  serials,  or  me 
moirs,  or  reminiscences,  or  novels.  He  said  that  "  Per 
sonals"  and  "Calendars"  never  required  any  thought, 
any  day  in  the  week. 

They  would  all  crowd  a  little  on  Friday — even  on 


JOHN    KICK    AND    LUCY    POOR  301 

Thursday  afternoons — so  that  Saturday  evening  there 
was  nothing  to  do.  And  then  it  was  that  John  Eich, 
instead  of  arranging  "Personals"  and  other  tric-trac, 
took  the  electric  for  the  Tenterden  Junction  and  walk 
ed  across  to  Waban  to  spend  Saturday  night  and  Sun 
day  at  his  aunt  Priscilla's.  She  lived,  you  know,  next 
door  to  the  Poors.  Mr.  Leonidas  Poor  might  be  as 
grumpy  as  he  pleased.  lie  could  not  keep  John  from 
coming  in  to  tea,  or  from  walking  up  and  down  the 
River  Road  with  Lucy,  or  from  spending  the  evening 
in  the  sitting-room  while  she  played  to  him,  or  while 
they  sang  together,  or  while  Olive  read  the  last  Steven 
son  aloud  to  them  ;  or  if  there  was  a  symphom7  concert 
at  Stoughton,  from  driving  over  there  together.  In 
that  household  Mrs.  Poor  did  much  as  she  chose,  and 
had  things  much  as  she  chose.  And  as  she  liked  John 
Rich  very  much,  Mr.  Poor's  grumpiness  was  practically 
nothing  to  anybody  but  himself. 

And  the  Saturday  evenings  were  only  too  short. 
And  Sunday  morning,  if  Aunt  Priscilla  asked  Lucy  to 
breakfast,  Lucy  was  not  so  stuck  up  but  she  would  come; 
and  on. the  alternate  Sundays  John  would  go  over  to 
the  Poors'  to  breakfast.  And  while  Lucy  got  up  her 
lesson  for  her  Sunday-school  class,  John  was  generally 
able  to  help  her.  And  it  always  happened  that  there 
was  not  room  in  the  carry -all  for  her,  so  thev  generally 
started  together  to  walk  to  church,  she  and  John.  Why, 
you  know  it  is  only  two  miles  if  you  go  through  the 
school-house  lane.  Then  John  waited  through  the 
Sunday-school — in  fact,  before  long  he  had  a  class  there, 
the  boys  were  so  fond  of  him !  His  subject  was  the 
athletic  games  introduced  at  Jerusalem  and  Ca3sarea, 


302  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

by  Herod  the  Great.  He  would  carry  Josephus's  An 
tiquities  from  the  library.  But  practically  the  instruc 
tion  was  largely  in  object-lessons.  They  had  that  little 
room  to  themselves  where  the  sexton  stands  when  he 
rings  the  bell. 

As  for  the  rest  of  Sunday,  I  do  not  know  so  much. 
They  were  a  little  apt  to  disappear.  John  was  apt  to 
have  a  horse  and  buggy  in  which  he  could  go  to  drive, 
and  it  was  understood  that  Lucy  had  some  protegees  at 
South  Natick,  whom  she  used  to  visit.  John  was  him 
self  an  officer  in  the  Home  for  Sick  Dogs,  and  they 
sometimes  went  over  there  to  see  how  Bruno  and  Bis 
marck  were  getting  on.  Always,  however,  they  arrived 
at  Aunt  Priscilla's  in  time  for  a  late  tea,  and  either  at 
Aunt  Priscilla's  or  at  the  Candlers',  or  the  Pettingills' 
or  the  Poors',  they  had  sacred  music  if  they  were  not 
walking  together  in  the  shrubbery.  There  was  never 
a  word  said  about  articles  of  any  sort.  Nobody  asked 
anybody  about  the  denouement  of  a  story.  Nobody 
talked  of  Mr.  Davis  or  Miss  Wilkins  or  Miss  Jewett,  or 
even  of  Mr.  Howells.  If  there  were  any  conversation 
on  literary  subjects,  it  was  of  far-away  times. 

When  August  came  the  staff  and  John  Rich  went 
to  Niagara  together.  As  has  been  said,  on  a  good  rail 
way,  like  the  New  York  Central,  one  writes  very  de 
cently,  and  you  can  work  the  typewriter  —  if  it  be 
work  to  run  the  typewriter;  the  Leonidas  Poors  of 
this  world  think  it  is  not.  Dr.  Holmes  once  said  to 
me  that  he  thought  he  wrote  better  in  a  moving  car 
than  he  did  anywhere  else.  He  asked  if  there  were 
not  some  slight  impulse  of  blood  to  the  head  which 


JOHN    BICH    AND    LUCY    POOK  303 

quickened  the  work  of  the  brain.  I  thought  it  was 
only  the  impulse  of  the  devil  proposing  that  you  should 
write  when  you  had  no  proper  implements  and  what 
you  wrote  was  illegible.  But  Wagner  and  Pullman 
and  Mr.  Depew  have  changed  all  that. 

They  took  ten  days  at  Cape  Breton,  and  looked  up 
Louisburg.  And  on  this  trip  Mrs.  Poor  and  Lucy  went 
with  them.  They  had  some  grand  friends  whom  they 
wanted  to  visit  there.  Generally  Madame  Gutenschrift 
and  Mrs.  Penn  matronized  the  parties  ;  they  took  their 
six  little  girls  with  them,  who  made  nice  companions 
for  the  working  party — if,  as  has  been  said,  this  be  work. 

They  roughed  through  the  winter  as  well  as  they 
could.  You  can  stand  a  good  deal  in  our  polar  lati 
tude  through  December,  and  even  January.  You  forget 
how  bad  it  was  last  year,  and  you  say,  "the  days  begin 
to  lengthen."  You  buy  new  arctics,  and  you  get  a 
good  deal  of  fun  out  of  Thanksgiving  and  Christmas. 
It  is  not  till  the  liar  February  appears  that  hope  begins 
to  leave  you.  And  so,  early  in  February,  John  Rich 
bade  Miss  Clara  write  to  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad 
for  his  two  palace-cars  and  the  dining-room  again, 
and  went  off  to  Manatee  and  Punto  Gordo  and  Punta 
Rassa  and  the  Fountain  of  Life,  oranges,  and  orange 
blossoms.  They  came  back — keeping  pretty  near  the 
fresh  strawberry  line — by  New  Orleans  and  a  Missis 
sippi  steamer,  and  Glenwood  Springs  and  Banff,  and 
so  by  Point  Keweenaw  and  Mackinaw,  in  time  for  the 
young  people  to  be  at  class-day  on  the  20th  of  June  at 
Harvard.  Will  Viking  had  the  poem  that  year,  and 
they  were  all  engaged  eleven  spreads  deep  at  Cam 
bridge. 


804  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

"The  only  way  to  do  it,"  said  John  Rich,  "is  to 
keep  steadily  to  your  hours.  Jump  out  of  bed  at 
twenty -three  minutes  before  seven,  if  that  is  your  time. 
If  your  time  is  twenty-seven  minutes  after  six,  get 
up  then.  If  you  have  promised  Mr.  McClure  eleven 
hundred  words,  send  him  eleven  hundred.  If  you  only 
promised  him  nine  hundred,  do  not  bother  him  with 
more."  And  to  the  young  authors  who  came  to  him 
with  their  manuscripts  at  the  stations,  or  asked  him 
at  Niagara  to  look  over  them  while  the  others  were 
in  the  Belle  of  the  Foam  or  under  the  cataract,  John 
would  give  like  advice. 

"  Do  not  try  to  tell  a  story  till  there  is  a  story 
to  tell. 

"  Then  tell  it  as  well  as  you  can,  in  as  few  words  as 
will  do. 

"  First,  second,  and  last,  forget  yourself  while  you 
are  doing  it,  and  never  bother  about  style." 

From  which  year's  career — for  this  was,  in  a  way, 
an  exceptional  year — one  triumph  came  to  John  Rich. 
It  was  after  class-day.  Miss  Clara's  monthly  return 
had  been  larger  than  ever.  The  dilatory  people  were 
paying  up,  and  there  was  a  new  President,  who  did  not 
make  wars.  So  John  Rich  bought  more  sugar,  and 
took  more  money  on  collateral  than  ever. 

As  he  read  his  To-day  one  morning  before  he  went 
to  after  -  breakfast  work,  a  note  came  in  the  mail 
marked  "Personal  and  particular."  Miss  Clara  did  not 
open  it. 

"This  is  a  victory,"  said  John  Rich,  grimly,  as  he 
read.  The  note  was  this : 


JOHN   KICH    AND    LUCY    POOR  305 

"  DEAR  MR.  RICH, — A  mortgage  has  fallen  in,  by  the  death  of  old 
Gradgrind.  It  amounts  to  three  thousand  four  hundred  dollars, 
and  makes  all  my  wife's  independent  property.  Might  I  have  a 
minute  with  you  before  Saturday,  to  consult  you  about  reinvest 
ing  it  ?  Always  yours, 

"LEONID AS  POOR." 

To  which  John  Rich  dictated  this  reply : 

"DEAR  MR.  POOR, — You  know  I  would  do  anything  to  serve 
you.  But  really,  in  a  case  like  this,  you  ought  to  consult  some  man 
of  business." 

Then  he  made  lamplighters  of  Mr.  Poor's  note. 

That  exceptional  year  came  to  an  end  on  the  7th 
of  July.  Exceptional  it  was,  John  Rich  said,  because 
at  the  end  of  it  nobody  made  any  objection  to  his 
marrying  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world.  She  had 
agreed  on  the  place  where  they  would  build  their  lit 
tle  cottage,  and  then  Dr.  Primrose  married  them,  and 
they  went  on  their  wedding  journey. 

As  they  read  their  Ilowells  together,  just  as  you  pass 
the  oldest  rocks  in  the  world,  between  Schenectady  and 
Syracuse,  John  shook  hands  with  a  sad  -  looking  man 
who  came  into  the  Wagner  palace  from  the  smoking 
car  and  took  his  seat.  His  seat  was  on  the  sunny  side, 
three  chairs  in  front  of  Lucy's.  Lucy  asked  her  hus 
band  who  this  downcast-looking  man  was. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  know  him  ?  He  was  the  year  be 
fore  me  in  college.  That  is  Gansevoort."  And  then, 
after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "  Lucy,  his  income  is  only 
three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Ours, 
even  outside  the  investments,  the  work  of  our  hands, 

20 


306  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

has  panned  out  twelve  hundred  and  thirty-four  dollars 
more  than  his.     There  is  Clara's  figure." 

And  he  showed  her  Miss  Clara's  memorandum  on 
the  back  of  a  card— 

$351,234. 

"  You  see  how  sad  he  looks.  Don't  you  think  I 
ought  to  share  our  surplus  with  him?" 

"  Poor  man,  I  am  afraid  the  girl  he  wanted  to  marry 
would  not  look  at  him  !" 

The  only  grief  about  their  wedding  journey  was  that 
they  could  not  stay  to  Clara's  wedding.  She  married 
Will  Watrous  the  next  day,  and  she  had  ten  brides 
maids — Annie  and  Louise  and  Ysabel  and  Lizzie  and 
Minnie  and  Hattie  and  Lilian  and  Mabel,  and  the 
others  of  their  nice  travelling-parties. 

The  next  day  there  were  four  weddings,  and  the 
next  four  more.  And  now  those  young  people  are 
Mrs.  Viking  and  Mrs.  Olaf  and  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs. 
Green  and  Mrs.  White  and  Mrs.  Black  and  Mrs.  Gray 
and  Mrs.  Bistre. 


FROM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION 

A    STORY    OF   CHRISTMAS    CHRISTIANITY 


"  COME  and  see  the  new  moon,  grandam !  Come, 
come,  thee  must  come  and  see  the  new  moon  !  And  put 
money  in  thy  pocket,  grandam,  and  put  thy  right  foot 
on  the  ladder,  and  face  this  way  and  look  over  that 
shoulder,  and  then  thee  will  have  money  for  a  month." 

"  And  little  good  will  the  money  do  me,"  said  the 
poor  woman,  not  moving  a  finger.  "  Be  there  another 
moon?  Then  it's  fifty-nine  days  since  we  started  on 
this  weary,  weary  sea.  And  in  my  heart  I  know  we 
shall  never  see  land." 

"Thee  knows  no  such  thing,  grandam,"  cried  one 
of  the  children  and  another;  "and  thee  must  come 
and  see  the  moon." 

"  For  before  she  is  full  thee  will  be  seeing  sugar  and 
spice  and  everything  nice,  and  medlars  and  pears  and 
plums,  and  thee  will  be  hungry  for  all  of  them,  and 
thee  will  need  all  thy  money  to  buy  them  for  Abner 
and  for  Willie." 

This  was  the  speech  of  that  pretty  Anne  Fortune, 
who  could  make  the  poor  sea-sick  woman  do  what  she 
chose.  And  she  succeeded  this  time,  as  she  had  done 


308  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

so  often,  and  dragged  her  up  the  narrow  ladder  to  the 
deck  in  triumph.  And  so  Goody  Wakelin  saw  the 
third  moon  of  their  voyage. 

They  were  all  on  the  Mayflower.  Yes,  the  famous 
Mayflower.  But  this  was  not  the  famous  voyage. 
This  was  one  of  the  later  voyages  of  the  brave  old  ship, 
before  she  disappeared  and  was  broken  up  and  changed 
into  old  junk  in  some  dockyard  on  the  river.  It  was 
to  America  she  was  coming;  and  Goody  Wakelin  was 
in  theory  taking  charge  of  the  children.  And  really 
Abner  and  Anne  had  charge  of  her.  For  they  had  the 
omnipotence  of  youth,  and  she,  sick  and  careworn, 
looked  back  far  more  than  was  well  for  her,  and  had 
to  be  cajoled  or  scolded  into  looking  forward.  Her 
complaining  began  again  as  she  turned  from  the  new 
moon. 

"But  where  is  my  dear  Lord?  Why  does  He  not 
say  to  the  sea,  'Be  still'?  Why  does  He  not  come  to 
me  and  lead  me  by  still  waters?" 

The  poor  children  did  not  know,  and  did  not  tell 
her.  They  could  only  beg  her  again  to  stay  and  see 
the  people  on  deck,  and  so  far  they  succeeded.  They 
found  for  their  poor  captive  a  lee  under  the  shelter 
of  a  big  cask,  which  was  a  part  of  the  deck  freight ; 
and  in  spite  of  herself  she  watched  the  reflection  of 
the  afterglow  on  the  clouds  behind.  Just  then  a 

O 

group  of  seamen  around  the  foremast  began  singing 
Simeon's  hymn  : 

"Lord,  because  rny  heart's  desire 

Hath  wished  long  to  see 

My  only  Lord  and  Saviour, 

Thy  Son,  before  I  die." 


FROM    GENERATION    TO    GENERATION  309 

Some  of  the  women  and  children  gathered  round 
them,  and  joined  in  the  familiar  words.  And  it  was 
with  jubilant  joy  that  they  sang  the  last  verse : 

"The  Gentiles  to  illuminate 

And  Satan  over-quell, 
And  eke  to  be  the  glory  of 
Thy  people  Israel." 

The  whole  deck  cheered,  one  may  say,  as  the  sacred 
song  was  ended.  For  the  "  Amen,  amen,  amen  !"  which 
rose  from  so  many  lips  was  indeed  the  cheer  of  con 
querors.  And  the  ship's  boatswain,  a  modest-looking 
young  fellow,  with  a  friendly  face  and  a  blazing  eye, 
stepped  forward  and  said,  "  Let  us  pray."  He  spoke 
perhaps  fifty  words  in  the  strain  of  triumph,  and  again 
came  the  glad  "  Amen,  amen  !"  And  then  the  young 
fellow  said,  what  lingered  in  the  hearts  of  those  chil 
dren  till  they  died : 

"You  see,  mates,  it  is  not  the  hair  of  His  head  ye 
are  to  look  for,  nay,  nor  the  grip  of  His  fingers  and 
His  thumb.  It  is  as  'twere  midnight,  black  and  dark, 
here,  and  ye  heard  the  cheer  of  His  voice  out  of  the 
fo'castle  as  He  called  ye  from  the  poop  yonder.  It 
is  not  His  face  that  ye  want;  it  is  Him.  It  is  Him  I 
long  to  see, 

"'The  only  Lord  and  Saviour, 
Thy  Son,  before  I  die.'" 

"Amen,  amen,  amen!"  rang  from  the  crowd.  And 
as  the  children  lifted  their  grandmother  down  the  com 
panion-way,  the  dear  old  soul  said,  "Amen,  my  dar 
ling.  How  wicked  I  was  when  I  came  up-stairs !  I  see 
it  now,  and  I  will  not  whine  any  more." 


310 


SUSAN  S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 


II 

Sixty-five  years  make  more  or  less,  as  you  take  them. 
The  three  children— Abner,  William,  and  Anne— were 
sixty-five  years  older  in  the  year  1690  than  they  were 
in  the  spring  of.  1625.  But  they  did  not  take  life  any 
less  joyously  — perhaps  they  took  it  more  joyously. 
Anne  Fortune  was  no  longer  Anne  Fortune.  She  had 
been  Abner's  wife  — well,  if  they  had  known  about 
golden  weddings,  theirs  would  have  passed  already. 
Her  children's  children  were  tumbling  round,  some  in 
the  great  lean-to,  sailing  boats  in  the  water-tank,  some 
in  the  cherry-trees,  picking  cherries  and  eating  them. 
Will  Wakelin  had  just  come  across  from  Plymouth, 
and  had  brought  some  ribbons  for  Comfort  and  Ruth, 
some  pepper  and  ginger  for  the  kitchen,  and  the  new' 
dasher  for  the  churn  which  he  had  bidden  Silas  Meek 
finish  for  him  at  the  mill.  And  he  and  his  wife- 
Aunt  Hitty,  as  the  children  called  her— had  walked 
across  from  their  house.  They  all  sat  together  under 
the  great  elm  as  the  sun  went  down.  On  the  com 
mon — the  green  between  two  roads — the  bigger  boys 
were  playing  the  ball-game  which  we  now  call  lacrosse. 
There  were  three  or  four  Sogkonate  boys  among  them, 
quite  enough  to  give  a  savage  flavor,  not  to  say  color, 
to  the  game. 

"I  was  telling  your  wife,  Will,"  says  the  Anne 
Fortune  of  the  Mayflower,  "  that  the  little  brats  here 
have  been  making  me  tell  them  old-time  stories  of 
the  sea  and  of  the  old  country.  And  I  told  them 
o'  that  night  when  we  coaxed  thy  grandmother  up 


FROM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION          311 

on  deck,  and  showed  her  the  new  moon  over  her 
shoulder." 

"  And,  indeed,  there  is  the  same  moon  now,"  cried 
Aunt  Ilittj' — "as  new  as  ever!" 

And,  sure  enough,  the  faint  white  sickle,  only  two 
days  old,  appeared  above  the  apple-orchard.  And  the 
children  twisted  their  necks  into  absurd  contortions, 
that  they  might  see  it  over  their  left  shoulders. 

"  And  did  you  tell  them,"  said  Will,  a  little  seriously, 
"  how  we  sang,  and  she  sang,  and  how  they  all  sang? 
Little  did  I  know  about  the  Gentiles  then.  And  thy 
mother,  Hitty,  told  me  stories  that  same  night  about 
the  old  times  which  I  shall  never  forget." 

"  And  Arnold,  the  boatswain,  spoke  to  us  that  night, 
and — yes,  here  is  the  Elder,  Arnold's  son,  has  come  just 
in  time  for  supper.  Hold  up,  Elder,  hold  up !  We 
were  talking  of  your  father.  Now,  Elder,  you  have 
not  far  to  go  —  John,  take  the  Elder's  horse  —  and. 
Elder,  there  will  be  a  plate  and  a  spoon  for  you. 
Elder,  we  were  talking  of  the  times  before  you  were 
born." 

And  so  the  boys  were  called  from  the  ball-field,  and 
their  brothers  and  sisters  from  the  orchard,  and  young 
Abner  and  Silas  from  the  barn,  as  little  Hitty  and 
Salome  came  out  beaming  from  the  great  kitchen  and 
announced  that  supper  was  on  the  table. 

The  older  people  sat  mostly  at  one  end  of  the  long- 
table,  "Little  Hitty,"  who  was  five  feet  seven  if  she 
were  an  inch  in  height,  presided  at  the  other  end,  and 
the  children  drew  up  stools  or  short  settles  in  the  space 
between.  The  party  was  not  large  for  this  hospitable 
house.  There  were  but  twenty-seven  in  all.  The  Elder 


312  SUSAN'S  ESCOKT,  AND  OTHERS 

asked  God's  blessing,  the  mugs  were  filled,  now  with 
cider,  now  with  milk,  the  meats,  cold  and  warm,  were 
served,  and  with  good  appetite  they  all  fell  to,  with 
viands  such  as 

"Kings  and  prophets  waited  for, 
And  sought,  but  never  found." 

"  Oh,  Anne,  do  you  remember  the  night  when  the 
pea-soup  was  sour  on  the  ship,  and  old  Watrous  threw 
his  plate  into  the  sea?" 

"  And,  Will,  I  can  see  thee  standing  by  the  kettle, 
and  how  thee  let  David  Antrim  carry  off  the  long  cut 
because  thee  knew  what  was  under  it"  —and  so  on. 
and  so  on. 

And  after  the  supper  the  children  gathered  in 
groups  on  the  grass  before  the  lean-to,  arid  the  old 
people  brought  their  chairs  under  the  great  elm,  and 
Abner  gave  to  the  Elder  the  Bible,  and  asked  him  to 
read  the  song  of  Simeon.  And  he  did.  And  then 
all  at  once  children,  fathers  and  mothers,  and  grand 
fathers  and  grandmothers  stood  in  a  circle,  and  the 
Elder  offered  prayer.  And  then,  with  Abner's  lead, 
they  sang  as  they  had  sung  on  the  deck  of  the  ship : 

"The  Gentiles  to  illuminate 

And  Satan  over-quell, 
And  eke  to  be  the  glory  of 
Thy  people  Israel." 

" '  Thy  kingdom  come,'  indeed,"  said  the  Elder. 
"  The  good  Lord  heard  and  answered." 

'"Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven.'  I 
think  of  that  every  night  when  the  children  come  and 
kiss  me/' 


FROM    GENERATION    TO    GENERATION  313 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Elder,  "  there  is  no  such  heaven 
as  a  happy  home." 

"  And  do  you  think,  Elder,  that  the  Lord  Christ  will 
long  delay  His  coming?  Are  there  not  signs  in  the 
sky  and  trembling  of  men's  hearts?" 

"  Dear  friend,"  said  the  Elder,  "  when  I  see  those 
redskins  eating  their  bread  and  milk  with  our  children, 
when  I  go  from  door  to  door  and  every  one  praises 
the  Lord  because  He  is  good,  I  see  that  it  is  as  the  good 
Lord  says.  He  cometh  not  with  observation.  He  has 
already  come." 


Ill 

A  perfect  September  day.  A  spacious  and  elegant 
house  on  a  quiet  street  in  Boston.  The  large  hall 
divides  three  generous  parlors  on  the  right  from  three 
as  generous  on  the  left.  In  the  most  westerly  of  the 
last  three  is  a  large  company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
around  an  admirably  furnished  dinner-table.  The  time 
is  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  dinner-hour  in 
Boston  in  1740. 

At  the  right  hand  of  Mrs.  Arnold,  the  hostess,  sits 
the  Reverend  George  Whiten* eld,  who  is  the  guest  of 
honor  of  the  occasion.  Rightly  or  not,  every  one  in 
the  company  addresses  him  as  "  Dr.  Whitefield."  Mrs. 
Arnold,  dignified,  gracious,  and  self-possessed,  is,  none 
the  less,  more  or  less  dashed  in  the  presence  of  a  guest 
so  distinguished  and,  for  good  reason,  so  much  honored. 
At  the  other  end  of  the  table,  at  the  right  of  Morton 
Arnold,  her  husband,  sat  Parson  Webb  of  the  New 
North  Church,  Morton  Arnold's  minister.  Thus  Morton 


314  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AJTD  OTHERS 

Arnold  would  have  called  that  gentleman,  not  meaning 
that  he  owned  him  in  any  sense,  but  rather  that  when 
John  Webb  preached  in  the  New  North  Church  he 
listened. 

We  are  not  strangers  to  these  people.  Morton 
Arnold  is  the  oldest  son  of  that  Elder  Arnold  in  the 
last  chapter,  who  asked  the  blessing  at  Marshfield 
fifty  years  before.  Mrs.  Arnold  is  the  younger  of  the 
two  girls  who  served  the  supper  to  the  others,  of  which 
by  accident  Elder  Arnold  partook.  Morton  was  one 
of  the  boys  who  played  lacrosse  on  the  green.  That 
portrait  by  Smibert,  at  which  Whitefield  is  looking  as 
he  speaks  with  Madam  Morton,  is  a  picture  of  Elder 
Arnold.  The  world's  gear  has  prospered  in  Morton 
Arnold's  hands ;  his  dunfish  are  in  favor  among  the 
monks  at  Yallombrosa— see  what  a  noble  fish  that  is 
from  which  Madam  Arnold  helps  Whitefield  !  And  as 
the  repast  closes,  these  figs  and  oranges  and  raisins 
have  all  been  selected  by  his  own  agents  in  Alicante 
and  Barcelona. 

Just  before  they  left  the  table  Morton  Arnold  was 
trying  to  catch  his  wife's  eye,  so  that  she  might  ask 
Dr.  Whitefield  to  return  thanks.  But  she  had  brought 
round  the  conversation  with  her  distinguished  guest  so 
far  as  to  venture  to  ask  him  his  opinion  on  Dr.  BengePs 
theory  of  the  Apocalypse,  which  theory  was  a  fashion 
able  one  at  that  moment  with  regard  to  the  second 
coming  of  Christ.  Did  Dr.  Whitefield  think  that  the 
Treaty  of  Utrecht  was  the  closing  of  the  fifth  seal  ?— 
or  whatever  was  the  particular  question  of  the  hour. 
Whitefield  felt,  perhaps,  that  this  was  not  a  very  good 
moment  for  exegetical  discussion ;  he  simply  said,  and 


FEOM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION         315 

she  never  forgot  it,  "  My  dear  madam,  if  you  and  I 
can  welcome  the  dear  Lord  in  our  hearts,  we  need  not 
be  troubled  if  we  do  not  see  Him  in  the  sky."  And  at 
this  moment  she  caught  her  husband's  eye,  she  saw  his 
purpose,  and  she  said  : 

"  Thank  you,  Dr.  Whitefield,  thank  you  indeed  !  I 
will  try  to  remember  what  you  say.  Now  we  must  not 
keep  all  the  people  waiting.  Will  you  return  thanks  ?" 

And  the  company  all  stood  with  bowed  heads  while 
Whitefield  thanked  the  good  God  for  the  feast  which 
they  had  enjoyed,  and,  in  words  which  faltered,  asked 
for  his  strength  for  the  duty  which  was  before  him. 

No  one  sat  down.  All  repaired  to  the  great  ball; 
mantles  or  other  outer  gear  were  thrown  over  the 
ladies'  shoulders,  the  men  took  their  canes  and  hats, 
and  in  a  stately  procession  they  moved  towards  the 
New  North  Church.  The  whole  town  and  the  whole 
neighborhood  knew  that  Whitefield  was  to  preach 
there,  and  as  they  approached  Hanover  Street,  which 
had  taken  its  new  name  from  the  dynasty  hardly  a 
generation  old,  their  way  was  already  blocked  by  the 
throngs  of  people  who  were  passing  around  the  meet 
ing-house.  The  meeting-house  itself  had  been  filled 
long  before. 

Morton  Arnold  was  not  surprised.  He  turned  back 
and  spoke  to  Whitefield,  who  was  following  him  close, 
with  Madam  Arnold  on  his  arm,  and  said  : 

"It  is  as  I  told  you,  Dr.  Whitefield.  There  will  be 
no  room  in  the  church.  I  shall  send  forward  Michael 
and  Samuel,  and  the  town-crier  is  in  waiting,  who  will 
give  notice  that  the  meeting  will  be  held  and  you  will 
preach  under  the  Quaker  Tree  on  the  Common." 


316  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

Little  did  Whitefield  know  why  he  used  the  word 
Quaker  in  connection  with  the  tree.  Mrs.  Arnold 
knew  that  it  was  because  Mary  Dyer  had  been  hanged 
there  nearly  a  hundred  years  before.  All  the  party 
turned  back  to  Arnold's  house. 

He  had  foreseen  all  this,  and  his  own  chariot  and 
horses  were  in  readiness  to  take  Dr.  Whitefield  and 
Mrs.  Arnold  and  two  other  guests  to  the  Common. 
They  arrived  at  the  tree,  near  the  marsh  or  pond  in 
the  more  distant  part  of  the  Common,  before  the  great 
mass  of  the  people.  Still,  there  were  hundreds  there, 
who  had  had  the  foresight  to  guess  that  the  New 
North  Meeting-house  would  not  be  large  enough  for 
the  assembly.  At  Mrs.  Arnold's  direction  the  horses 
were  removed  from  the  carriage  and  led  away  some 
where,  so  that  Whitefield  might  stand  in  the  carriage 
himself  as  the  throng  of  people  drew  near.  And  then 
there  flowed  up,  in  a  living  stream,  the  crowd  of  men 
and  women  —  yes,  of  children  as  well,  led  by  their 
mothers — each  eager  to  get  a  front  place  in  the  throng, 
and  filling  in,  thousand  upon  thousand,  thousand  upon 
thousand,  around  the  speaker. 

Whitefield  was  pale — he  did  not  seem  excited ;  he 
sometimes  said  a  word  to  the  three  ladies  with  whom 
he  had  come.  And  they,  with  reverent  understanding 
that  they  were  not  to  sit  in  this  accidental  pulpit, 
stepped  down  from  the  chariot,  and  grouped  them 
selves  with  those  who  were  in  the  front.  A  little  cir 
cle  of  grass,  not  ten  feet  across,  separated  him  from  his 
hearers.  The  gathering  of  the  crowd  was  rapid,  it  was 
silent  as  the  gathering  of  the  same  people  in  their 
churches  might  have  been,  a.nd  there  was  but  little 


FROM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION          317 

delay,  therefore,  before,  in  a  voice  which  broke  some 
times  with  emotion,  Whitefield  led  the  prayers  of  this 
assembly  in  a  fervent  appeal  to  the  present  God. 

The  service  went  forward  much  as  it  might  have 
done  in  the  new  brick  meeting-house.     An  occasional 
cry  of  "  Amen !"  or  "  Praise  the  Lord  !"  breaking  in  on 
the  preacher's  voice,  made  indeed  the  only  exception 
from  the  ordinary  decorous  conduct  of  Sunday  service. 
The  sermon  was  an  eager,  passionate  description  of  the 
Saviour's  personal  presence  and  movement  in  Nazareth, 
at  the  well  of  Samaria,  in  Edom,  by  the  seaside  at  Tyre, 
and  at  last  at  Jerusalem.     Whitefield  made  the  Divine 
Man  live,  even  for  the  dullest  negro  who  listened  to 
him  with  open  mouth  and  unwinking  eyes.     It  was  as 
if  He  spoke  to  them ;  it  was  as  if  He  took  them  by  the 
hand.     And  then,  not  in  many  words,  but  with  intense 
feeling,  he  showed  them  that  the  love  with  which  Jesus 
spoke  was  God's  love,  the  power  with  which  He  acted 
was  God's  power,  the  eternal  wisdom  of  His  instruction 
was   God's  wisdom.     "This  is  incarnation,"  he  cried. 
"  You  see  the  living  God  lives  and  moves  and  has  His 
being  by  the  side  of  the  brook  of  Sharon,  on  the  hill 
side  in  Nazareth,  and  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem  !"     So 
passionate  and  eager  was  this  statement  that  a  cho 
rus  of  "Amen!  amen!  amen!"  fairly  interrupted  the 
speaker.     He  almost  trembled  as  he  stood  silent,  but 
he  waved  his  hand  as  if  to  quell  the  half -applause 
which   thus  expressed  itself,  and,  pointing  with  that 
thin,  bony  finger  quite  into  the  middle  of  the  crowd, 
then  almost  frowning,  as  if  he  could  hardly  find  words 
for  his  message,  he  cried,  "You  say  'Amen!'  —  and 
what  is  the  use  of  my  showing  you  how  God  can  be 


318  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

present  in  the  form  of  man  as  He  walked  in  Nazareth 
and  Jerusalem  unless  you  are  willing  that  God  shall 
be  incarnate  in  your  own  lives,  as  you  go  and  come 
under  these  trees  or  in  those  streets  of  Boston  ?  Is  it 
any  use  for  you  that  God  should  have  been  incarnate 
then,  if  you  mean  to  resist  the  Holy  Spirit  and  will  not 
let  Him  be  incarnate  now  ?  Now  is  the  time  accepted, 
and  this  is  the  day  of  salvation,  and  you  will  know 
what  it  is  to  be  saved  if,  as  your  Saviour  did,  you  will 
speak  God's  word,  you  will  do  God's  deed,  and  will  go 
about  your  Father's  business.  O  God,  my  God,  that 
Thou  wilt  incarnate  Thyself  in  the  hearts  of  Thy  ser 
vants  here  to-day !" 

And  so  that  address  was  ended.  A  moment  more, 
and  in  eager  words  of  prayer,  words  which  poured  over 
each  other  as  if  he  could  not  hold  them  back  in  his 
passion  of  love  and  reverence,  he  continued  the  same 
appeal.  The  men  around  him  knew  that  he  saw  God 
and  heard  Him  and  was  alive  with  the  infinite  life. 

That  evening  as  Madam  Arnold's  grandchildren  gath 
ered  around  her,  as  she  kissed  them  before  they  went 
to  bed,  her  husband  read  to  them  the  passage  which 
came  in  order  in  the  Bible,  and  the  children  felt  that 
his  prayer  had  in  it  an  eager  reality  to  which  they 
had  not  been  accustomed  in  the  evening  service  of  the 
household.  And  their  grandmother  kept  them  for  a 
moment,  as  she  did  not  always  keep  them,  and  said  to 
them : 

"  Do  not  forget  this  day— do  not  forget  this  day.  He 
said  to  me  that  we  are  not  to  look  in  the  clouds  for  our 
Saviour.  And  I  am  sure,  John,  you  will  remember 
what  you  heard  on  the  Common.  You  know  that  you 


FKOM    GENERATION    TO    GENERATION  319 

are  one  of  the  children  of  God ;  and  when  you  choose, 
God  lives  and  moves  and  has  His  being  in  you." 

Our  business  with  this  story  is  that  John  Arnold 
never  forgot  those  words.  And  in  a  thousand  straits 
of  his  after-life—boy,  youngster,  adventurer,  emigrant, 
and  leader  of  men ;  in  sorrow  or  in  joy,  in  weakness 
and  in  strength — John  Arnold  knew  how  to  find  the 
infinite  companionship,  and  to  go  about  his  business  as 
those  do  who  are  almighty. 


IV 

Fifty-two  years  more.  John  Arnold,  this  very  boy 
who  saw  and  heard  Whitefield,  is  standing,  a  little 
nervous,  at  the  door  of  a  great  "  frame  house,"  not  far 
from  a  hospitable  log-cabin.  From  the  great  chimney 
of  the  cabin  pour  torrents  of  blue  smoke,  which  indi 
cate  an  important  function  within.  John  Arnold  is  a 
tall,  handsome  man,  whose  hair  is  hardly  grizzled ;  he 
looks  ready,  is  ready,  to  tramp  his  five -and -twenty 
miles  through  the  woods  any  day.  Yet  John  Arnold 
has  been  left  at  home  this  time  while  the  boys  went 
to  the  campaign. 

He  is  dressed  in  a  well-preserved  blue  uniform  coat, 
rather  old-fashioned,  but  of  French  cut  and  Revolu 
tionary  times,  and  in  clean  and  new  buckskin  breeches. 
He  looks  uneasily  at  the  sky,  to  see  how  far  down  the 
sun  has  gone,  and  once  or  twice  walks  to  the  corner  of 
the  barn,  listening. 

And  at  last  he  is  rewarded.  "  Tap,  tap,  tap,"  the 
sound  of  a  drum  is  heard  ;  and  then  four  2'reat  lumber 


320  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

wagons  rattle  across  the  corduroy  road,  each  flying  an 
American  flag,  and  well  filled  with  jovial  young  men, 
cheering  and  waving  their  hats.  This  is  the  party  which 
John  Arnold  has  been  waiting  for. 

They  are  the  contingent  from  all  this  neighborhood 
to  Mad  Anthony's  army.  And  Mad  Anthony — Gen 
eral  Wayne — has  crushed  the  Shawnee  forces  in  de 
cisive  fights.  One  might  almost  say  the  Shawnee 
army,  so  well  trained  and  so  elated  by  their  victories 
over  Harmon  and  St.  Clair  were  the  enemy,  and  so 
well  supplied  by  their  English  allies.  But  now  they 
are  utterly  beaten  and  utterly  broken.  Now  there  is 
some  peace  for  the  settlers,  so  far  as  Indians  go,  for 
a  hundred  thousand  years. 

And  Colonel  Arnold— "old  Colonel  John  Arnold," 
as  the  boys  call  him— has  declared  that  his  new  house 
shall  never  offer  food  or  drink  to  man  or  beast  till  the 
boys  come  home. 

Now,  on  this  bright  September  day,. the  boys  have 
come.  And  the  tin-kitchens  in  the  log-cabin  have  been 
roasting  meat  all  day,  and  the  great  potash  kettle  has 
been  boiling  hams,  and  the  very  ashes  have  been  bak 
ing  potatoes,  and  the  new  cider  is  already  drawn,  and 
every  woman  and  girl  in  the  neighborhood  is  in  her 
best  gown  to  wait  on  the  table.  Well  might  John 
Arnold  wish  to  hurry  their  coming.  And  here,  at  last, 
they  have  come. 

No !  One  does  want  to  describe  the  color  of  every  tur 
key  poult,  the  brown  crust  and  the  black  clove  of  every 
ham,  the  flood  of  red  gravy  which  followed  every  knife 
as  every  haunch  of  venison  wras  cut.  One  wants  to  tell 
how  every  Phoebe  blushed,  or  every  Hitty,  when  her 


FROM    GENERATION    TO    GENERATION  321 

own  John  or  Silas  or  Cephas  found  her  and  hugged 
her  and  kissed  her.  One  would  be  glad  to  repeat  the 
words  with  which  Parson  Meigs,  who  had  come  all  the 
way  up  from  Marietta,  thanked  God  and  asked  His 
blessing.  But  we  must  not  make  the  story  too  long. 
Enough  that  the  boys  and  the  girls  and  the  boys'  fa 
thers  and  mothers  sat  at  a  more  than  royal  feast.  For 
indeed  few  kings  can  give  such  feasts.  They  are  re 
served  for  States  like  Ohio,  one  of  whose  proud  mot 
toes  is, "In  Ohio  no  man  was  ever  hungry." 

It  is  after  the  feast  that  we  have  to  do  with  a  few 
of  the  party.  Colonel  John  is  still  within,  trying  to 
persuade  some  little  boys  that  they  can  eat  some  more 
doughnuts,  and  cutting  for  them  some  more  squash 
pies.  But  here,  on  the  western  side  of  the  old  log-house, 
a  little  secluded  from  the  rest,  is  a  group  of  a  dozen, 
half  of  them  soldiers  and  the  other  half  "sweethearts 
and  wives."  The  men  are  smoking  their  cob  pipes.  The 
women,  neither  appalled  by  the  smoke  nor  ashamed  to 
be  where  they  are,  are  pretending  to  open  the  knap 
sacks,  pulling  out  what  they  find  there,  and  comment 
ing  on  the  campaign. 

But  the  talk  grew  more  serious.  Captain  Nat,  as 
the  bo}^s  called  Arnold's  son,  had  told  of  Wayne's 
speech  when  he  dismissed  them.  Then  with  a  good 
deal  of  feeling  he  said,  choking  a  little  as  he  began  : 

"  I  was  glad  when  the  old  man  said  he  had  no  more 
use  for  us,  and  that  there'd  be  no  more  use  for  us  in  a 
million  years.  I  tell  you,  Sally,  it's  these  old  gray- 
beards,  who've  smelt  powder  all  their  lives— it's  they 
that  pray  for  peace.  l  Now,  boys,'  says  he,  'your  homes 
are  your  own,  and  you've  nobody  to  fear.  Make  'em 


21 


322  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

homes  as  is  homes,'  says  he.  And  that's  what  you  and 
I  are  for." 

"'Bring  in  the  kingdom,' "  said  James  Southworth. 
And  his  wife,  Alice,  pressed  his  weather-beaten  hand, 
from  which  the  forefinger  had  been  shot  away,  a  little 
more  closely. 

"  Yes,  bring  in  the  kingdom.  That's  as  good  a  word 
as  any.  No  more  drums,  no  more  wars  and  fightings. 
'Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven. ":  And 
he  looked  up  into  the  western  sky,  and  pointed  to  the 
white  sickle  of  the  moon  two  days  old.  "  They  do 
things  without  trumpets  or  drums  up  there." 

"Why,  there's  the  new  moon,"  said  Alice  South  worth. 
"  Constant,  your  grandsire  used  to  tell  a  story  about  the 
new  moon  on  the  Mayflower"  And  then  she  looked 
round,  and  with  great  satisfaction  said,  "  Why,  we  were 
all  there !  Constant,  you  were  there,  and  you,  William 
Holmes,  and  you,  James,  and  you,  Captain  Nat ;  Cephas 
Collier,  you  were  there,  and  your  wife — of  course  the 
Brewsters  were  there."  She  pointed,  as  she  spoke,  to 
the  Hitty  Meek  of  this  generation,  as  if  all  men  and 
women  knew  that  she  was  a  Brewster. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Cicely,  how  your  grandmother 
used  to  sing : 

"'My  only  Lord  and  Saviour, 
Thy  Son,  before  I  die'? 

"  I  thought  I  saw  him,  Thursday  night,  though  it 
was  pitch-dark,  when  Hiram  knocked,  knocked,  knocked 
so  loud  at  the  door,  and  I  started  out  of  bed  all  fright 
ened.  '  Victory,'  said  he,  '  victory  !  The  war's  done, 
and  the  boys  are  coming  home !'  Dark  it  was  as  mid- 


FKOM    GENERATION   TO   GENERATION  323 

night ;  but  when  I  waked  up  my  baby  to  tell  him  his 
father  was  coming  home"  — here  the  young  mother's 
voice  broke—"  I  thought  I  saw  my  Saviour's  face,  and 
I  thought  I  heard  the  angels  singing, '  Peace  on  earth 
and  good  will  among  men.' ':  And  all  excited,  and 
with  tears  and  sobs,  she  flung  herself  on  her  husband's 
knees  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

Every  one  was  hushed  for  a  moment,  and  then  in 
his  clear  tenor  Cephas  sang : 

"  Israel's  strength  and  consolation, 

Hope  of  all  the  earth  thou  art ; 
Long  desired  of  every  nation, 
Joy  of  every  waiting  heart " — 

and  all  the  rest,  men  and  women,  joined  in. 

"  And  now,"  said  James,  "  we  are  not  the  men  and 
you  are  not  the  women  to  go  round  singing  them 
hymns  without  doing  something  about  it.  And  we've 
talked  it  all  over,  we  boys  have,  and  you  girls  will 
all  come  in.  We  know  that  without  asking.  You 
see,  we've  seen  the  place.  Why,  we  camped  there 
Wednesday  night,  and  we  talked  it  all  over  round 
the  fire.  We'll  go  and  take  out  our  claims  there  next 
week,  and  we'll  have  the  cabins  built  by  Thanksgiving. 
Cicely,  there's  just  what  you  want ;  the  south  wind 
blows  over  a  bend  of  the  river,  which  cools  it.  Hitty, 
there's  just  what  you  want,  for  there's  a  little  swell 
of  the  land  and  great  thick  woods  of  black-walnut  that 
keeps  off  the  northwest  wind.  Why,  it's  the  king 
dom  of  heaven  now,  if  you  can  only  keep  sin  and  the 
devil  out  of  it.  I  says  to  Cephas,  says  I,  as  the  sun 
went  down  that  night,  says  I, i  Cephas,  there's  nothing 


324  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

in  the  Book  of  Kevelations  that  beats  that !  I  don't 
know  nothing  about  chrysoprase  or  chalcedony,  but 
there's  nothing  finer  than  them  maples  and  chestnuts 
and  oaks  and  hickories — and  that's  where  we're  going 
to  make  our  town.' ': 

"  The  Gentiles  to  illuminate 

And  Satan  over-quell, 
And  lliou  to  be  the  glory  of 
Thy  people  Israel." 

Cicely  interrupted  him  as  she  half  sang  and  half  said 
these  words. 

"And,  first  of  all,"  said  her  husband, "  nobody  is  to 
be  hungry  there.  Nobody  is  to  ask  God's  blessing  on 
his  breakfast  any  day  if  he  thinks  there's  one  cabin  in 
the  township  where  there's  not  enough  to  eat." 

"  And,  in  the  second  place,"  said  Hiram  Meek,"  there's 
to  be  no  fools  there.  There's  to  be  a  nice,  pretty  school- 
house  ;  and,  Cicely,  your  sister  is  to  come  from  Ipswich 
and  teach  in  it." 

"And,  in  the  third  place,"  said  William  Holmes, 
"  there's  to  be  no  drunkards  there.  "  There's  to  be  no 
'  eleven  o'clocks '  nor  '  eye-openers,'  nor  no  other  devil's 
drinks." 

"In  short,"  said  his  wife,  "all  this  means  that  every  - 
body  is  to  love  his  brother  as  himself." 

"  And  his  sister,"  said  that  demure  little  Hitty,  who 
always  had  the  last  word,  and  was,  without  knowing 
it,  stroking  the  back  of  a  great  sunburnt  hand. 

"  And  that  means,"  said  Captain  Nat  Arnold,  who 
from  a  sort  of  childlike  integrity  and  purity  had  be 
come  regarded  as  a  father  of  these  boys — "  that  means 
that  the  whole  town  shall  love  God  and  love  man. 


FROM    GENERATION    TO    GENERATION  325 

Boys  and  girls  and  their  fathers  and  their  mothers  will 
grow  up  to  love  God  because  they  love  man,  and  to 
love  man  because  they  love  God.  And  this  will  be  at 
the  ferry  and  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and  when  they  are 
hoeing  corn,  and  when  the  girls  are  husking  it,  just  as 
much  as  in  the  meeting-house  or  at  the  Friday  meet 
ing." 

"And  where  is  the  place,  and  when  shall  we  go 
there,  and  what  is  its  name?"  said  Mary  Chilton,  the 
youngest  and  the  prettiest  of  the  girls,  with  a  far-away 
look,  as.  if  she  were  trying  to  make  real  the  figure  in 
a  dream. 

"We  might  call  it  Bethlehem,"  said  her  older  sister. 

"  Or  we  might  call  it  Nazareth,"  said  Alice. 

"  Let's  call  it  Mayflower,"  said  Hitty. 

"  No  matter,  no  matter,"  said  Nat—"  Old  Nat,"  the 
boys  called  him,  because  he  was  almost  twenty-seven— 
"no  matter  what  we  call  it,  so  it  is  only  Kingdom 
Come." 

"  Amen,"  said  Cicely  ;  and  she  sang,  and  they  joined 
her  in  singing,  the  old  verse  which  her  grandmother's 
great-grandfather  had  sung  on  the  Mayflower: 

"Lord,  because  my  heart's  desire 

Hath  wished  long  to  see 

My  only  Lord  and  Saviour, 

Thy  Son,  before  I  die." 

And  as  September  and  October  and  November  went 
by,  the  young  men  went  out  with  their  axes.  They 
took  with  them  their  brothers  and  their  cousins,  and 
they  had  built  ten  new  cabins  before  Thanksgiving- 
day.  It  is  one  hundred  and  two  years  since  Wayne's 


326  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

victory.  Yet  no  word  that  was  spoken  on  that  after 
noon  has  been  lost,  nor  any  song  that  was  sung.  And 
the  cheer  and  thanksgiving  of  that  evening  have  re 
peated  themselves  a  thousand  thousand  times  in  the 
pretty  village  which  gave  thanks  that  day. 

ISTo  canal  ever  passed  through  their  meadows.  No 
railroad  ever  sought  a  track  through  the  valley.  I 
do  not  know  on  what  page  of  the  post-office  register 
you  will  find  it,  and  we  cannot  turn  it  up  in  the  right 
county  in  the  census.  But  on  Thanksgiving- day,  in 
John  Arnold's  barn,  they  held  an  old-fashioned  Thanks 
giving.  The  mothers  carried  their  babies  to  the  meet 
ing,  and  the  babies  did  not  cry.  And  Morton  Arnold, 
the  great-great-grandson  of  the  other  Elder  Arnold- 
he  preached  to  them  that  day.  "  On  these  two  com 
mandments  hang  all  the  law  and  the  prophets."  I  do 
not  know  what  the  old  Elder  would  have  said.  But 
when  Morton  Arnold  had  finished  his  sermon  he  said : 

"  Dear  brethren,  if  the  time  allowed,  I  would  go 
back  to  the  deck  of  the  Mayflower,  and  tell  you  what 
my  grandsire  has  told  me  of  the  coming  over.  And  I 
would  tell  you  a  story  of  the  Old  Colony— how  my 
grandsire's  father  played  ball  with  the  redskins.  Or 
I  would  tell  you  what  my  father  has  told  me,  of  the 
day  when  the  great  George  Whitefield  preached  on 
Boston  Common,  and  the  captain  heard  him.  But 
now  there  is  no  time,"  he  said.  "But  the  elders  will 
not  be  hurt  if  we  take  another  day  for  that,  and  hold 
a  special  meeting.  And  on  this  day  six  weeks  hence 
we  will  call  in  all  the  neighbors,  and  I  will  tell  those 
old  stories.  Every  one  of  them  will  show  us  how  the 
Lord  has  visited  and  redeemed  His  people.  Every  one 


FROM  GENERATION  TO  GENERATION         327 

of  them  will  show  how  He  has  truly  come  to  every 
heart  that  was  open  to  His  coming.  If  they  sought 
their  God,  they  found  Him.  And  in  every  age  the  dear 
Lord  Christ  has  set  up  His  altar  and  has  been  present 
with  His  own.  And  now,"  said  he,  "we  will  not  sing 
from  the  new  hymn-book.  We  will  sing  one  verse  of 
Simeon's  hymn,  as  the  elders  sang  it  on  the  May 
flower."  And  he  deaconed  out  the  words  they  sang : 

"The  Gentiles  to  illuminate 

And  Satan  over-quell, 
And  thou  to  be  the  glory  of 
Thy  people  Israel." 

And  it  was  as  the  Elder  proposed.  When  Christmas- 
day  came  round,  the  girls  hung  the  barn  with  red  and 
yellow  ears  of  corn,  and  outside  the  men  built  a  great 
bonfire.  And  the  people  came  in  from  the  Crossing, 
and  from  Hound's  Ferry,  and  some  from  the  village  at 
the  Mill.  I  believe  it  was  the  first  Christmas  cele 
brated  in  Ohio.  And  it  was  that  festival  which  gave, 
in  all  that  region,  to  that  sort  of  religion  the  name  of 
"  Christmas  Christianity." 


MRS.  DE   LAIX'S   INDECISION 

THERE  were  six  caps  to  be  trimmed,  and,  by  some 
accident,  Lucinda  had  bought  ribbon  enough  for  only 
four. 

Mrs.  De  Laix  was  not  so  very  sorry.  She  would  not 
for  the  world  tell  Lucinda  that  she  did  not  fancy  that 
shade.  Rather  than  have  Lucinda  suspect  it,  she  would 
wear  all  the  caps  in  turn,  till  she  could  craftily  be  rid 
of  the  ribbon  and  get  more.  As  this  was  to  be  so,  she 
determined  to  go  down -town  herself  for  the  ribbon 
for  the  other  two.  And,  lest  she  should  wound  Lu 
cinda,  she  took  Clara  with  her. 

She  determined  to  try  Stearns's  shop,  which  is  at  the 
corner  of  Temple  Place. 

So  she  waved  her  hand  and  stopped  the  electric 
car.  The  street  was  horribly  crowded.  But  the  car 
stopped  at  just  the  right  spot,  and  Mrs.  De  Laix  and 
Clara  worked  their  way  through  the  crowd  of  passen 
gers  to  the  door.  But  when  they  came  there,  Mrs. 
De  Laix  said : 

"Clara,  dear,  I  think  I  will  go  on  to  Whitney's.  I 
believe  Lucinda  bought  her  ribbon  here.  I  should  like 
to  see  that  nice  woman  at  Whitney's  to  thank  her  for 
the  crochet  needles."  And  then,  to  the  car-conductor, 
"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  But  I  believe  we  will 
go  on  to  Winter  Street," 


329 

Alas!  it  was  not  so  easy.  The  South  Boston  cars 
which  had  been  waiting  for  their  turn  at  the  curv7e 
were  now  running  in.  Mrs.  De  Laix's  car  had  lost  its 
right  of  way.  It  was  fully  two  minutes  before  the 
South  Boston  cars  ran  through.  And  then  only  could 
Mrs.  De  Laix's  car  and  Clara's  start  again.  "When  they 
started — well,  it  is  not  two  hundred  yards  to  Whitney's 
—they  were  there  in  a  minute.  Half  the  car  had  to 
leave  at  that  corner.  Mrs.  De  Laix  and  Clara  left. 
They  were  not  more  than  an  hour  in  buying  satisfac 
tory  ribbon — "fair  and  square."  And  it  will  not  be 
till  the  last  chapters  of  this  little  tale  that  we  shall 
meet  them  again. 

Eeaders  in  that  small  section  of  the  world  which  un 
derstands  the  transit  arrangements  of  Boston  will  know 
that  the  stoppage  of  that  particular  car  at  the  corner 
of  Temple  Place  delayed  not  only  the  passengers  in  it, 
but  the  passengers  in  twenty  or  more  cars  behind  it, 
which  had  to  stand  in  what  we  call  a  "  block  "  in  Boston 
— a  quarter  mile  of  cars  waiting — until  that  South  Bos 
ton  procession  could  hurry  by.  In  these  cars  there  were 
some  six  hundred  persons,  each  of  whom  lost  from  his 
day's  work  one,  two,  or  three  minutes,  as  it  might  hap 
pen.  It  is  with  the  fortunes  of  two  of  these  persons, 
and  with  other  fortunes  connected  with  theirs,  that  this 
story  has  now  to  deal. 

When  the  late  Mr.  De  Laix  died,  he  left  his  property 
—half  a  million  dollars,  more  or  less— to  a  trustee,  to 
pay  to  Mrs.  De  Laix  the  income  in  monthly  payments. 
It  was  admirably  invested,  so  that,  one  year  with  an- 


330  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

other,  even  in  these  days  so  wretched  for  capitalists, 
Mrs.  De  Laix  received  two  or  three  thousand  dollars  on 
the  first  of  every  month  from  her  faithful  friend,  Mr. 
Mahsteff.  His  father  had  been  a  clerk  with  Mr.  De 
Laix  in  St.  Petersburg. 

But  such  high  interest  means  constant  watchfulness. 
On  the  other  hand,  constant  watchfulness  was  the  de 
light  of  Mr.  Mahsteff;  and  on  this  very  afternoon,  two 
cars  behind  Clara  and  Mrs.  De  Laix,  he  was  in  his  car, 
on  his  way  down-town,  to  a  meeting  of  the  committee 
of  the  bond-holders  of  the  first  mortgage  on  the  K.  and 
L.  L.  Railroad.  His  friend's  investment  in  these  bonds 
was  so  large  that  his  presence,  of  necessity,  would  con 
trol  the  action  of  this  meeting.  Indeed,  at  all  the  pre 
vious  meetings  of  this  little  syndicate  he  had  been,  of 
course,  chairman,  and  had,  in  fact,  directed  the  whole 
procedure.  At  his  motion,  in  truth,  it  had  been  deter 
mined  that  the  bond-holders  should  act  together,  and 
that  all  their  bonds  should  be  sold  or  held,  when  the 
moment  came,  by  one  order. 

When,  at  last,  Mr.  Mahsteff  s  car  arrived  at  Scollay 
Square,  he  looked  at  his  watch,  to  find  that  it  was  al 
ready  four  o'clock,  the  moment  for  which  the  bond 
holders  had  been  summoned  on  his  own  motion.  He 
leaped  from  the  car  to  call  a  cab.  Alas,  no  cab !  He 
lost  a  minute  by  running  back  to  the  museum.  Alas, 
no  cab  there!  He  must  go  on  foot — he  who  had  not 
run  since  he  strained  his  sartorial  muscle.  Perhaps  he 
should  meet  a  cab — or  overtake  one !  No,  poor  Mah 
steff — no  such  luck !  It  is  fully  six  minutes  past  four 
when  he  arrives  at  the  double  elevator  in  the  lofty  Ex 
change  Building. 


MES.    DE    LAIX'S    INDECISION  331 

Can  that  be  Mr.  Snapp  who  leaves  the  descending- 
elevator  just  as  Mr.  Mahsteff  ascends?  Impossible— 
they  cannot  have  adjourned ! 

But,  alas !  they  have  adjourned.  From  a  dull  office- 
boy,  who  pretends  to  know  nothing,  and  perhaps  does 
know  nothing,  Mr.  Mahsteff  learns  that  at  four  pre 
cisely  Mr.  Snapp  had  called  the  four  gentlemen  present 
to  order.  In  a  moment  he  showed  that  he  represent 
ed  a  quorum  of  stock.  In  two  minutes  more  he  had 
voted— the  others  doubtful  and  yet  non-resistant — that 
a  telegram  should  be  sent  to  Denver,  before  the  close 
of  business  there,  to  accept  the  terms  of  the  D.  P.  and 
I.  road  for  the  purchase  of  this  block  of  bonds.  Then 
he  had  said  he  would  carry  the  telegram  himself,  that 
it  was  but  two  o'clock  at  Denver,  and  there  would  yet 
be  time. 

Clear  enough  it  was  that  faithful  Mr.  Mahsteff  had 
been  sold,  as  well  as  his  bonds  and  Mrs.  De  Laix's.  lie 
thought  of  this,  he  thought  of  that,  of  an  injunction 
here,  of  a  "combine"  there.  But  his  adversary  had 
not  been  thinking,  he  had  been  acting,  and  Mr.  Mah 
steff  and  his  friends  had  been  given  over,  by  Mrs. 
De  Laix's  unfortunate  indecision,  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  great  railway  market  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

In  the  electric  car  next  but  one  behind  Mr.  Mahsteff 
had  been  sitting  and  dreaming  Alfred  Skimpole.  Al 
fred  was  a  tall,  pale  boy — growing  six  inches  a  year — 
whom  his  father  was  trying  to  make  practical,  by  in 
trusting  him  with  the  humblest  detail  of  the  business 
of  his  office.  He  was  an  affectionate  boy,  and  he  want- 


332  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,  AND    OTHERS 

ed  to  do  right.  But  to-day,  as  he  came  in  from  Brook- 
line,  he  had  seen,  for  the  first  time  since  October,  a  red- 
crested  nut-hatcher,  and  he  had  not  refrained,  perhaps 
need  not  have  refrained,  from  the  pleasure  of  crossing 
Muddy  Brook  in  pursuit,  to  see  where  she  was  build 
ing.  All  papa  had  bidden  Alfred  do  was  to  take  the 
parcel  to  the  Boston  office  before  four,  and  give  it  per 
sonally  to  Mr.  Eeddiman.  Alfred  knew  his  watch  was 
a  little  fast,  and  he  would  have  "  plenty  of  time,"  as 
dreamers  always  expect  to  have,  and  as  they  never 
have. 

As  the  electrics  went  and  stopped,  as  one  woman 
and  another  conversed  with  the  conductor  before  she 
came  on  board,  even  Alfred's  dreams  began  to  take  a 
somewhat  dismal  color.  He  looked  at  his  watch  more 
and  more  often.  He  persuaded  himself  that  it  was  six 
minutes  fast,  not  four.  At  last  he  was  so  nervous  that, 
when  they  arrived  in  time  at  Winter  Street,  he  left 
the  shebang  altogether,  and,  with  speed  for  which  noth 
ing  but  the  six  inches'  growth  of  last  year  prepared, 
ran  down  the  middle  of  the  street,  cursed  by  teamsters 
and  cabmen.  He  arrived  breathless  in  High  Street,  a 
minute  and  a  half  after  Mr.  Reddiman  had  gone. 

"Said  he  would  be  back  at  five.  Said  he  dussn't 
wait  no  longer.  Said  perhaps  ye  father  'ad  sent  um 
heself.  Said  perhaps  et  was  no  matter.  Said  he  would 
be  back  at  five."  Such  were  the  oracles  of  the  porter 
who  was  left  in  charge  of  the  office. 

Alfred  Skimpole's  father  was  the  celebrated  head 
of  the  engineering  firm  of  Skimpole,  Adgers  &  Horn 
blende,  to  which  had  been  intrusted  by  the  city  of  Bos- 


MRS.  DE    LAIX  S    INDECISION  333 

ton  its  case  to  be  brought  before  Mr.  Cleveland's  com 
mission  on  harbor  improvement.  The  commission  had 
the  last  of  its  many  meetings  that  day,  and  took  the 
pleasant  boat  for  New  York  and  Washington  that  night. 
On  the  boat,  between  Fall  River  and  Boston,  the  three 
members  —  one  of  whom  was  from  Texas,  one  from 
Washington  Territory,  and  one  from  Philadelphia  - 
drew  up  their  report  on  such  documents  as  they  had. 
They  were  rather  annoyed  that  the  city  of  Boston  had 
given  them  so  few  reliable  statistics.' 

The  statistics  were  in  the  parcel  which  Alfred  did 
not  give  to  Mr.  Reddiman. 

They  arrived  in  Washington  late  at  night  on  the 
next  day,  after  the  report  of  the  commission  had  been 
presented. 

Mr.  Eeddiman  and  Mr.  Hornblende  and  Mr.  Adgers 
and  Mr.  Skimpole  made  twenty  visits  to  Washington 
as  the  summer  passed,  hoping  to  get  a  supplementary 
report  presented,  explaining  that  the  claims  of  the  city 
of  Boston  had  not  been  properly  attended  to.  Such  a 
supplementary  report  was  at  last  got  in,  as  the  reader 
may  remember,  as  the  last  year  of  Mr.  Cleveland's  sec 
ond  administration  passed.  But,  alas!  the  River  and 
Harbor  Bill  was  then  well  forward,  and  although  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  desperate  effort  was 
made  to  bring  in  an  amendment,  the  Senate  threw  it 
out  on  a  conference,  and  the  appropriation  was  never 
made. 

It  is  to  the  lack  of  this  appropriation,  joined  Avith 
the  unfortunate  sinking  of  two  coal  barges  in  the  most 
critical  points  of  the  harbor,  that  the  steady  decline  in 
the  foreign  and  coastwise  commerce  of  Boston,  for  the 


334  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

end  of  the  nineteenth  century  and  the  beginning  of  the 
twentieth,  was  due. 

If  the  Recording  Angel  would  give  us  an  opportunity 
to  look  in  at  his  day-books  and  ledgers,  so  that  we 
could  show  the  reader  what  happened  to  five  hundred 
and  ninety-eight  other  people  in  the  twenty  cars  which 
were  held  back  on  that  eventful  day,  the  stories  would 
be  interesting,  as  are  all  stories  of  human  life.  But  the 
space  given  to  us  is  limited,  so  that  these  two  speci 
mens  must  be  taken  as  an  illustration  of  what  hap 
pened  to  all. 

There  was  John  Sidney,  on  his  way,  with  a  lovely 
bouquet  of  flowers,  to  see  Alice  Yernon  before  she 
took  the  carriage  for  the  train  to  Mount  Desert.  John 
Sidney  missed  her,  and  in  fact  never  saw  her  again. 
Before  the  summer  was  over,  she  had  given  her  hand, 
and  let  us  hope  her  heart,  to  Wallace  Carruthers. 
There  was  Dr.  Morton,  whose  cab  had  broken  down, 
who  was  on  his  way  to  meet  Dr.  Fothergill  in  consul 
tation  at  East  Boston.  Morton  is  a  courageous  person, 
and  always  presses  forward ;  but  he  missed  the  proper 
ferry-boat,  the  driver. waiting  for  him  at  the  dock  sup 
posed  that  he  would  not  come,  Morton  was  too  late  in 
consultation,  Fothergill  missed  the  proper  artery,  and 
the  patient  died.  There  was  poor  old  Johanna  Steven 
son,  with  her  basket  of  clean  clothes,  on  her  way  to  the 
Benedict  Club.  Poor  soul,  she  came  in  late,  and  the 
porter  was  cross  to  her.  He  said  Mr.  Whymper  had 
waited  till  the  last  minute,  and  then  had  gone  without 
one  of  the  shirts  which  she  had  promised.  Poor 
Whymper,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  thought  he  was  the  worst- 
dressed  man  at  the  Round  Robin  Club  when  it  met ; 


MRS.   DE    LAIX'S    INDECISION  335 

his  spirits  were  depressed  through  the  whole  evening; 
he  made  an  unfavorable  impression  upon  Mr.  Thread- 
needle,  who  was  watching  him  all  the  time,  and  Mr. 
Threadneedle  engaged  for  his  confidential  book-keeper 
that  other  man  who  had  come  from  a  Western  college, 
and  who  cheated  him  and  his  of  all  that  belonged  to 
them  before  five  years  were  over.  All  such  incidents 
are  at  the  service  of  the  writers  for  the  Spiders  Wei), 
Two  Tales,  and  of  other  persons  who  are  on  the  look 
out  for  plots  for  their  stories.  There  are  plots  enough 
for  stories,  if  only  we  would  keep  our  eyes  open,  and 
would  only  ask  ourselves  what  follows,  or  what  might 
follow,  on  the  different  contingencies  of  human  life 
which  we  are  pleased  to  call  commonplace. 

As  for  Mrs.  De  Laix,  with  whom  we  began,  she  and 
Clara  went  happily  home  from  Mr.  Whitney's.  She 
had  seen  the  nice  girl  at  the  counter,  and  had  had  a 
pleasant  conference  with  her.  It  was  true  that  Mr. 
Whitney  had  not  established  the  shop  intending  that 
half  an  hour  should  be  given  to  friendly  talk  across 
the  counter  between  nice  and  rich  old  ladies  and  hard 
working  women  clerks.  But  such  things  happened ; 
and  in  this  case  it  happened.  Mrs.  De  Laix  was  never 
very  prompt  or  quick  in  such  conversation. 

She  and  Clara  went  home,  and  for  a  few  days  suc 
ceeded  in  concealing  the  new  ribbons  from  Lucinda. 
When  the  caps  finally  appeared,  Lucinda  expressed  the 
proper  surprise  at  the  shade  of  ribbon  which  she  had 
not  seen  before,  and  Mrs.  De  Laix,  on  the  whole,  en 
joyed  her  triumph. 

But,  alas !  she  enjoyed  this  triumph  as  the  lady  at 


336  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

the  head  of  a  Southern  plantation  might  enjoy  her  suc 
cess  in  baking  a  batch  of  cream  cakes,  when  her  hus 
band  announced  that  the  cotton-worm  had  got  into  the 
fields,  and  that  there  would  not  be  a  boll  of  cotton  in 
the  autumn.  Mr.  Mahsteff  had  kept  secret  for  a  week 
or  two  the  fatal  sale  of  the  bonds  to  the  Denver  wreck- 
master.  Then  he  had  been  obliged  to  confess  to  Mrs. 
De  Laix  that  on  the  1st  of  June  he  should  not  be  able 
to  send  her  any  dividend.  He  said,  however,  cheerfully, 
that  she  must  recollect  that,  however  these  Western  se 
curities  came  out,  more  than  half  her  fortune  was  in 
real  estate  in  Boston,  and  that  it  was  in  those  parts  of 
Boston  about  which  there  could  be  no  contingency  in 
the  future.  He  told  her  that  if  she  wanted  money  for 
her  summer  expenses,  he  could  readily  advance  it  to 
her  on  a  mortgage  of  some  of  her  landed  property. 
But  Mrs.  De  Laix,  of  course,  had  money  enough  in  the 
bank  to  carry  her  down  to  Boar's  Head,  and  to  carry 
Clara  and  Lucinda,  and  all  the  others  who  were  in  the 
habit  of  making  their  summer  holiday  with  her.  It 
was  not  in  that  summer,  and  it  was  not  in  the  next 
summer,  that  Mrs.  De  Laix  saw  fully  what  happened 
when  half  her  property  was  swamped  by  the  Denver 
speculators;  nor  was  it  for  two  years  that  she  knew 
what  was  going  to  happen  when  the  coal  barges  sank 
in  the  harbor  of  Boston,  and  the  coasting  trade  of  that- 
city  was  transferred  to  the  harbors  of  Salem  and  Port 
land. 

But  as  year  passed  after  year  —  particularly  after 
poor  Mr.  Mahsteff  went  home  one  night  perplexed  and 
troubled,  and  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  the  next 
morning  because  a  clot  of  blood  had  stuck  in  the 


337 

wrong  place  in  the  back  of  his  neck — Mrs.  De  Laix's 
outlook  on  the  world  appeared,  even  to  herself,  opti 
mist  as  she  was,  darker  and  darker  with  each  new  day. 
She  did  not  sell  her  elegant  house  on  Commonwealth 
Avenue,  although  it  was  taxed  awfully  and  she  had 
nothing  with  which  to  pay  the  taxes.  She  did  not  sell 
it,  because  there  was  nobody  in  the  world  who  would 
buy  such  a  castle.  Half  the  houses  on  Commonwealth 
Avenue  had  signs  upon  them  indicating  that  they  were 
for  sale.  But  even  these  signs  were  becoming  illegible 
with  the  stress  of  weather  since  the  time  when  they 
had  been  placed  there.  And  as  you  passed  in  the  even 
ing  you  saw  that  there  was  no  longer  electricity  or  gas 
in  the  parlors  or  chambers;  there  was  only  a  snuffy 
light  in  some  basement,  which  was  inhabited  by  the 
keeper  of  the  house,  who  was  waiting  in  the  hope,  not 
very  sanguine,  that  a  purchaser  might  appear.  Event 
ually,  however,  any  question  of  sale  was  settled,  when 
the  authorities  of  the  town,  doubtful  how  they  should 
meet  the  annual  necessities  of  their  city  debt,  seized  the 
house,  and  pretended  to  sell  it  at  a  sheriff's  sale.  Mrs. 
De  Laix  could  not  remain  in  it  while  an  auction  was 
going  on ;  and  after  conference  with  such  of  her  friends 
as  had  not  emigrated  to  Europe,  or  gone  to  Denver  or 
to  other  places  to  escape  the  destruction  which  was  set 
tling  down  over  the  city  of  their  birth,  she  determined 
that  she  and  Clara  and  Lucinda  must  leave  the  house 
which,  as  she  said,  had  always  been  fatal  to  her. 
There  were  a  good  many  homes  open  to  her.  There 
was  her  sister  in  Canada,  there  was  her  brother  in  the 
Fiji  Islands.  She  had  a  cordial  letter  from  her  uncle 
in  Valparaiso,  and  a  proposal  was  made  to  her  that 


29 


338  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

she  should  make  a  long  winter  visit  in  Paris  with  a 
lady  who  was  acquainted  with  the  second  Madam 
Mackay.  But  all  these  invitations  involved  ready 
money.  Ready  money  was  the  first  thing  which  had 
disappeared  in  Mrs.  De  Laix's  calculations.  The  very 
little  that  she  had  was  needed  for  postage-stamps,  to 
pay  for  such  distant  correspondence,  and  Lucinda  and 
Clara  had  always  been  dependent  upon  her  for  their 
pocket-money  and  for  the  modest  milliners'  bills  which 
they  contracted  from  year  to  year. 

Mrs.  De  Laix,  Clara,  and  Lucinda,  the  minister  of 
their  church,  and  the  president  of  the  sewing  society 
connected  with  that  church,  had  one  final  conference 
on  the  day  before  the  sheriff's  sale  was  to  take  place 
in  her  mansion.  It  appeared  that,  in  the  old  prosper 
ous  times,  Mrs.  De  Laix  had  made  herself  a  life  mem 
ber  of  the  "  Society  for  the  Protection  and  Care  of  Old 
Ladies  who  had  Known  Better  Days.  It  proved  that 
from  this  life  membership  it  resulted  that  she  had  a 
right  to  name  an  inmate  once  in  four  years.  It  proved 
that  in  the  last  twelve  years  Mrs.  De  Laix  had  never 
named  her  inmate.  The  society  maintained  an  agree 
able  home  on  the  heights  of  Dorchester,  and  yet  there 
were  not  a  great  many  people  living  in  this  home. 
For  some  reason  or  other,  the  persons  who  had  lived 
there  had  gone  to  other  places  ;  they  had  found  spend- 
ing-money,  and  they  had  accepted  the  invitations  of 
their  Valparaiso  relatives.  Mrs.  De  Laix  would  gladly 
do  the  same,  but  she  had  no  spending-money.  It  was 
therefore  determined,  quite  readily  on  the  part  of  all 
persons,  that  she  should  name  herself  and  Clara  and 
Lucinda  as  the  three  inmates  for  the  home.  And  that 


MRS.   DE    LAIX'S    INDECISION  339 

afternoon,  with  the  scanty  remnants  of  their  clothing, 
and  a  few  photographs  which  reminded  them  of  the 
past,  they  established  themselves  in  the  pleasant  par 
lors  of  the  institution. 

The  next  morning  they  occupied  themselves  in  put 
ting  their  rooms  to  rights,  and  in  laying  the  articles  of 
their  clothing  in  the  drawers  of  the  neat  bureaus  and 
wardrobes.  As  Mrs.  De  Laix  took  out  the  six  caps, 
which  still  remained,  with  the  history  of  which  this 
little  story  began,  her  attention  was  called  to  the  dif 
ference  between  the  gray  ribbons  of  one  and  the  lav 
ender  of  another.  She  called  Clara  to  her. 

"  Clara,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  do  you  remember  the 
day  when  we  bought  these  ribbons?" 

And  Clara  said  she  did. 

"  Clara,"  said  Mrs.  De  Laix, "  do  you  know,  I  some 
times  wish  that,  instead  of  going  on  to  Whitney's  that 
day,  we  had  bought  the  ribbons  at  Stearns's." 


KING   CHARLES'S  SHILLING 


I  HAD  come  up  the  Congo  to  a  point,  well,  say  sixty 
miles  below  Housa,  when  something  happened  to  the 
connecting-rod  of  the  steamer,  and  she  was  laid  up  for 
repairs  for  twenty-four  hours.  I  was  glad  of  the  chance 
to  stretch  my  legs  and  -to  try  for  game,  and  started  off, 
as  soon  as  the  engineer  made  this  report,  with  my  two 
boys,  as  they  were  called,  Philip  and  Mendi  John. 
Philip  was  of  no  great  use  but  as  an  interpreter  with 
the  other,  who  has  a  great  deal  of  good  woodcraft  in 
him  and  other  working  capacity.  We  had  great 
luck,  as  how  could  a  man  fail  to,  going  through 
meadows  and  woods  which  never  saw  an  entomologist 
before?  I  had  bagged  and  chloroformed  and  stuck, 
well,  twenty-five  fine  butterflies,  and  had  left  a  dozen 
traps  for  moths,  to  be  examined  when  we  came  back 
the  next  day.  We  had  lunched  under  a  grove  of 
pepper- trees,  when  I  saw  —  what  I  afterwards  knew 
better,  but  what  then  I  had  never  seen — a  magnificent 
specimen  of  Vanessa,  larger  than  Erckhard's,  and,  as  I 
supposed,  rightly,  wholly  new.  I  simply  called  to  the 
boys  that  they  were  not  to  leave  the  place,  and  started 
after  him. 

A  blessed  tramp,  he  led  me  up  hill  and  down  dale. 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING  341 

Hot — oh,  how  hot  it  was !  Bamboos  here,  pepper-trees 
there,  plantains,  bananas,  palm-trees— now  in  the  shade, 
now  in  the  sun,  and  this  lovely,  flattering  flatterer  ahead 
of  me  with  the  wiles  and  wit  of  a  siren  and  an  oread 
combined.  But  I  was  too  much  for  him.  After  an 
hour  I  had  the  splendid  creature  —  there  he  is  now, 
framed  and  under  glass,  hanging  on  the  wall,  opposite 
where  I  write.  I  slung  my  box  on  my  back  after  I 
had  chloroformed  him  and  fixed  him,  and  then  started 
back  to  my  men. 

If  I  had  found  them,  there  would  have  been  no  story. 
The  truth  was  that  my  handsome  wood-nymph  there, 
the  Vanessa,  had  bewitched  the  brooks  and  the  paths 
so  that  everything  ran  the  wrong  way.  Even  the  sun 
in  the  heavens,  when  he  shone  at  all,  shone  in  the 
wrong  quarter.  Most  of  the  time  the  sky  was  over 
cast,  so  that  the  poor  sun  himself  could  not  shine  at  all. 
And  who  was  I,  to  know  my  road  there,  in  the  king 
dom  of  Mandara,  upper  or  lower,  if  the  sun  in  the  sky 
did  not  know  his?  I  tramped  and  I  tramped.  I  had 
lost  my  own  tracks  long  before.  At  last  I  came  to  a 
path  tolerably  well  beaten,  and  it  brought  me  out — on 
the  river  in  sight  of  the  smoke-stacks  of  the  Princess 
Beatrice  f  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  brought  me  out  on  the 
slope  of  a  hill,  in  a  large  banana  patch,  with  a  village 
of  sixty  or  seventy  huts  just  below  me. 

I  will  not  say  I  was  frightened,  for  there  is  no  good 
in  telling  tales  out  of  school.  But  I  will  not  say  I  was 
not,  for  there  is  no  good  in  lying.  The  sun,  wherever 
he  was,  was  well  near  setting.  For  it  was  six  by  my 
watch.  I  could  not  keep  it  up  much  longer.  So  I 
boldly  went  down  into  the  village. 


342  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

Half  a  dozen  little  curs  snapped  at  me,  just  as  if  I 
had  been  in  a  village  of  the  Yanktons  or  in  the  Sahara. 
I  made  nothing  of  them,  but  pressed  on ;  and  then, 
meeting  a  pleasant  fellow  as  black  as  the  knave  of 
clubs,  with  a  handsome,  good-natured  face,  clad  in  a 
long,  blue  nightgown,  made  in  a  Manchester  print-shop 
for  a  bed-curtain,  I  made  a  salaam  to  him  in  the  best 
fashion  of  Bel-el-djeree.  And  he,  restraining  his  laugh 
ter,  made  one  in  quite  another  fashion  to  me.  Then 
he  advanced  and  boldly  offered  me  his  hand  as  an  Eng 
lishman  might  have  done,  much  to  my  surprise.  He 
said  something,  also,  but  1  knew  not  what,  and  I  took 
precious  good  care  not  to  lisp  a  word  of  Arabic. 

What  I  did  was  to  lay  my  head  on  one  side,  as  if  I 
were  desirous  of  sleeping,  and  to  put  my  finger  in 'my 
mouth,  as  if  I  wanted  to  eat.  I  had  learned  the  first 
signal  from  the  ballet  and  the  second  from  Mother 
Nature  and  the  Navajo  Indians.  He  laughed  good- 
naturedly  and  pointed  to  the  village.  A  group  of  boys 
and  girls,  with  a  few  uncles  and  aunts,  fathers  and  moth 
ers,  were  assembled  already  to  see  the  wonder.  For 
myself,  I  was  asking  myself  whether  they  would  sing, 
as  they  did  to  Mungo  Park : 

"Let  us  pity  the  white  man; 
No  mother  has  he  to  bring  him  milk, 
No  wife  to  grind  his  corn." 

But  I  am  not  writing  for  Mr.  Fewkes  or  the  Ethno 
logical  Society.  So  I  will  only  say  that  my  guide  was 
evidently  a  top-sawyer  in  the  crowd,  and  that  he  made 
them  march  right  and  left  as  he  would.  Before  ten 
minutes  had  passed  I  was  lying  on  two  or  three  nice, 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING  343 

sweet  mats  of  an  indescribable  perfume,  and  a  gentle 
black  woman,  dressed  also  in  a  high-colored  Manchester 
chintz,  had  brought  me  a  cup  of  coffee.  After  this 
there  was  enough  to  eat,  and  of  the  best,  too.  And,  to 
make  the  story  as  short  as  I  can,  in  this  house  I  spent 
the  night,  on  these  same  mats,  indeed.  Conversation  is 
very  hard  when  it  has  to  be  confined  to  pantomime. 
I  described  the  river  as  well  as  I  could,  and  the  play  of 
the  walking- beam  of  the  engine  of  the  Princess  Bea 
trice.  Of  one  thing  I  may  say  I  am  certain — that  my 
friend  had  seen  her  or  had  not.  But  whether  he  had 
seen  her  or  not  I  do  not  know.  At  one  time  I  thought 
he  had,  and  went  on  with  inquiries  as  to  the  distance 
that  might  part  me  from  her  at  that  moment.  But 
afterwards  I  had  reason  to  think  that  he  supposed  I 
described  the  jumping  up  and  down  of  some  monkeys 
who  had  been  playing  upon  the  tree.  Such  are  the 
dangers  of  sign-language. 

After  a  little  conversation  of  this  sort  I  intimated 
that  I  would  like  to  go  to  sleep.  He  intimated  that 
there  was  no  better  time  or  place.  With  a  considera 
tion  I  had  not  expected,,  he  stretched  a  mat,  or  sort  of 
curtain,  across  the  room,  or  house — for  there  was  but 
one  room  under  the  roof — and  I  found  myself  in  my 
bedroom.  I  cannot  say  that  I  went  to  bed.  I  was  al 
ready  in  my  bed,  a  rapidity  of  comfort  which  I  have 
not  found  in  more  elaborate  forms  of  civilization. 

It  was  the  next  morning  that  the  revelation  came 
which  I  am  trying  to  write  out  in  this  story.  I  was 
wakened  early  from  a  sound  sleep  by  the  singing  of 
the  birds,  I  believe  it  is  called  by  the  poets.  It  was, 
in  fact,  the  rasping  and  exasperating  screaming  of 


344  SUSAN'S  ESCOET,  AND  OTHERS 

cocks,  guinea-hens,  geese,  and  ducks,  for  these  African 
villages  are  nothing  without  their  poultry.  It  is  easy 
to  dress  when  you  have  not  undressed,  and  it  was 
scarcely  six  o'clock  when  I  found  myself,  not  at  table, 
for  we  were  all  on  the  ground,  but  at  breakfast,  with  a 
larger  company  than  the  night  before.  The  fare  was 
much  what  it  was  then.  There  were  plenty  of  ba 
nanas,  much  finer  than  the  newsboy  ever  sold  me  on  a 
train.  The  resistance  piece  was  a  platter  of  rice,  with 
boiled  chicken  and  butter,  all  together.  The  chicken 
was  jointed,  so  that  one  could  take  hold  of  any  piece 
he  wished.  For  we  ate  as  Adam  and  Eve  did,  if  in 
deed  they  had  come  as  far  as  kabobs  of  chicken. 

As  I  bent  forward  to  take  a  side-bone  which  looked 
attractive,  a  fine  old  fellow  in  a  white  nightgown  hap 
pened  to  see,  hanging  from  my  watch-chain,  an  old, 
very  old,  silver  shilling.  It  was  a  shilling  of  Charles 
I.,  in  perfect  condition,  which  I  had  dug  up  years  before 
in  our  orchard  when  I  was  setting  out  some  quince- 
trees.  When  the  old  man  saw  this  he  bent  over  eagerly 
and  begged  me  to  show  it  to  him,  that  he  might  exam 
ine  it.  His  manner  was  perfectly  courteous,  but  I  con 
fess  I  thought  I  looked  my  last  on  my  shilling.  All 
these  tokens  of  Manchester  were  enough  to  show  that 
they  had  learned  the  value  of  money.  This  was  the 
first  time  they  had  seen  that  I  had  any,  and  I  was 
graceless  enough  to  think  that  it  would  be  long  be 
fore  I  handled  my  luck-penny  again. 

But  in  this  I  thought  as  a  Philistine  thinks,  as  you 
shall  see. 

I  gracefully  unhitched  it  from  the  chain  and  gave  it 
to  him  with  my  best  manner.  What  says  Jacob  Ab- 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING  345 

bott :  "  When  you  grant,  grant  cheerfully."  Old  Night 
gown  showed  it  eagerly  to  Blue  Nightgown  and  to 
Red  Nightgown,  on  the  other  side.  Their  faces  beamed 
with  astonishment  and  delight.  Then  they  pointed 
out  to  each  other  the  stamp  on  the  obverse  with  evi 
dent  joy.  Then,  with  great  ceremony,  they  handed 
back  the  piece  to  me.  If  it  had  been  sacred  it  could 
not  have  been  more  reverently  handled.  Then  Blue 
and  Red  Nightgowns  scrambled  up  from  their  haunch 
es,  more  rapidly  than  gracefully,  and  hurried  from  the 
house.  What  all  this  meant  I  could  not  guess. 

And  I  was  more  mystified  when  they  returned,  this 
time  again  with  a  certain  ceremony,  for  what  I  might 
call  an  escort,  rather  than  a  body-guard,  came  with 
them.  Through  the  great  open  doorway  I  could  see 
the  procession  come,  of  ten  or  twelve  men.  I  could  see 
it  open  to  the  right  and  left  to  make  a  passage  for  Red 
and  Blue  and  stand  fixed  as  they  two  came  in.  In 
stantly  the  mats  were  cleared  from  all  platters  as  if 
the  meal  were  done.  Then  they  put  down  a  great 
covered  basket,  tightly  tied. 

With  endless  manipulations  and  ceremonies  it  was 
opened.  The  covers  and  cloths,  napkins  and  mats 
taken  out  from  it  were  numberless.  But  at  last  we 
came  to  a  handsome  necklace,  made  of  three  gold  coins, 
and,  say,  thirty  silver  coins.  This  really  elegant  thing 
they  handed  fearlessly  to  me.  You  know  I  am  a  bit 
of  an  expert  in  coins.  The  three -gold  pieces,  which 
were  made,  so  to  speak,  the  centre  of  the  necklace, 
were  perfect  Portuguese  joes,  as  perfect  as  if  they  had 
been  struck  yesterday.  The  silver  coins,  also  fresh 
from  the  mint,  were  English  shillings,  exactly  like 


346  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

mine,  but  that  they  were  not  in  the  least  worn,  of  the 
coinage  of  Charles  I.  As  everybody  knows,  these  are,  if 
in  good  condition,  among  the  very  rarest  coins  in  the 
world,  poor  Charles  having,  for  reasons  well  known  to 
history,  very  little  silver  to  coin.  If  my  hosts  had 
shown  amazement,  certainly  I  showed  much  more. 
The  joes,  as  I  said,  were  fresh  from  the  mint  of  King 
Joannes  of  Portugal,  the  fourth  of  that  name. 

In  another  wrapper,  where  I  found  a  husk  or  two  of 
Indian  corn,  was  a  very  handsome  wampum  necklace, 
of  Narragansett  manufacture.  It  has  been  my  busi 
ness  to  study  wampum,  not  to  say  to  make  it,  to  buy 
it,  and  to  sell  it.  I  have  never  seen  more  perfect 
beads  than  these,  white  and  black  both,  and  all  in  the 
best  forms.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  string  was  in 
the  same  condition  as  when  it  was  traded  away  by 
Canonicus  or  some  of  his  men. 

This  revelation  was  more  extraordinary  than  the 
other.  Silver  and  gold,  almost  of  their  nature,  go  all 
over  the  world,  but  wampum  does  not.  How  did  this 
necklace — it  was  not  a  belt — come  here? 

I  expressed  by  every  sign  —  by  raising  of  the  e}7e- 
brows,  holding  up  of  my  open  palms  and  radiant 
smiles  —  my  interest,  curiosity,  and  surprise,  I  might 
say  puzzled  amazement.  Then  I  handed  back  the  two 
necklaces,  respectfully,  to  Red-Gown.  Then  the  cere 
mony  continued.  More  mats  were  withdrawn  from 
the  basket.  Another  parcel  was  reached,  larger  than 
the  first.  This  was  carefully  opened,  with  sundry 
prostrations,  and  a  knock  or  two  of  the  forehead  upon 
it.  When  all  was  opened  it  proved  to  be  a  bound 
book,  which  was  handed  to  me  reverently.  I  opened 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING*  o47 

at  the  title-page,  to  find  a  perfect  English  Bible.  For 
an  instant  i  thought  it  was  a  waif  from  Mungo  Park's 
equipment.  No,  it  was  of  a  date  much  earlier  than 
he.  u  Cum  Privilegio.  London,  10-12.  Published  by 
the  King's  Printer." 

How,  when,  or  why  —  by  what  agency  of  church, 
state,  or  trade — had  these  things  found  their  way  here  ? 


II 

I  did  not  choose  to  abate  the  reverence  with  which 
I  saw  this  book  was  regarded.  I  am  as  little  given  to 
bibliolatry  as  any  man.  But  in  this  case  I  made  no 
scruple.  I  bowed  as  low  as  Reel -Gown  had  bowed, 
and  touched  my  forehead  to  the  volume.  Then  I  com 
manded  silence.  I  opened  at  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
I  read  the  first  three  beatitudes  and  the  Lord's  Prayer 
aloud,  as  solemnly  and  with  such  dignity  as  I  could  ex 
press.  By  a  signal  I  made  them  all  bow  their  heads. 
And,  with  all  my  heart,  I  am  sure,  on  my  knees  I  said  : 
"  Father  in  Heaven,  tell  me  what  to  do,  what  to  say, 
and  how  to  lead  these  people."  I  am  sure  they  un 
derstood  that  I  offered  prayer. 

I  gave  back  the  book  to  the  curious  and  dignified 
old  chief,  who  was,  I  think,  a  priest  of  some  kind.  I 
carefully  watched  the  folding  of  it  in  its  mats  and  the 
business  of  laying  it  away  with  the  necklace.  Then  I 
began  a  series  of  signs,  and  such  interrogatories  as  can 
be  expressed  by  them,  wishing  all  the  time  that  I  had 
the  skill  of  Harlequin  or  of  Columbine  or  of  Mr.  Bell  in 
translating  into  "  visible  speech"  the  language  of  the  ear. 


348  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

They  led  me  out  into  the  open  air;  they  showed  me 
the  sun,  which  was  by  this  time  half  an  hour  high ;  I 
was  made  to  understand  that  he  rose  at  one  spot  in 
one  part  of  the  year  and  at  another  at  another  season. 
Then  I  felt  that  we  were  advancing.  I  had,  the  night 
before,  been  made  to  understand  that  two  doubled 
fists  made  ten.  Now,  by  repeated  pilings  together  of 
the  fists  of  one  and  another  chief  and  priest  I  was 
taught  that  it  was  twenty -four  tens  of  years  since 
these  things  came  into  their  possession.  The  son 
of  Red-Gown  was  brought  forward,  a  vigorous  man 
of  fifty,  and  his  son,  a  small  lad  of  fifteen.  I  was 
made  to  understand  that  Red-Gown's  father's  father's 
father,  seven  generations  back,  brought  these  sacred 
things  from  a  country  beyond  the  sunset.  He  had 
preserved  them,  and,  as  I  found  afterwards,  by  oaths 
the  most  sacred,  in  formulas  more  binding  than  any 
thing  which  is  known  to  book -ruled  lands,  he  had 
bound  his  children,  and  his  children's  children's  chil 
dren,  to  preserve  them. 

I  say,  "  I  was  made  to  understand  this."  How  much 
I  really  gained  from  that  long  and  trying  conversation 
in  pantomime  I  do  not  now  precisely  know.  But 
when  my  interpreters  appeared,  my  guesses  were  con 
firmed  or  corrected,  so  that  I  find  it  now  hard  to  say 
at  what  moment  I  gained  the  correct  ideas. 

By  this  time  they  had  missed  me  from  the  ship. 
My  black  fellows  had  gone  home  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  and  reported  that  I  was  lost.  At  sunrise  they 
sent  these  two  out  again  and  some  volunteer  skirmish 
ers.  By  nine  o'clock  some  of  Blue-Gown's  people  met 
some  of  these  scouts,  and  by  ten  I  had  Phil  and  John 


349 

to  talk  for  me.  Red-Gown  produced  a  man  who  had 
taken  a  Mendi  wife,  and  so,  with  four  languages  and 
interpreters,  we  understood  each  other  in  a  way. 

The  first  time  I  was  at  home  in  Connecticut,  some 
five  years  after  this  happened,  I  made  a  run  down  to 
Boston,  and  there,  in  their  archives,  I  got  their  part  of 
the  story.  Strange  enough  it  is,  and  you  shall  hear  it 
now. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  grace  1645  that,  in  this  same 
village  of  Lower  Mandara,  looking  much  then  as  it 
looks  now,  there  was  to  be  a  first-class  wedding.  This 
young  fellow,  as  he  was  then,  who  is  the  hero  of  this 
story  henceforth  —  his  name  was  Telega — was  to  he 
married.  And  he  was  to  be  married  to  his  sweetheart, 
as  it  happened.  I  arn  afraid  it  did  not  always  happen 
so.  But  all  the  accounts  agree  that  it  was  a  match  of 
his  making.  Nay,  I  believe  they  think,  as  I  do,  that 
this  is  the  reason  why  we  ever  hear  of  him  again. 

Well,  the  forms  of  marriage  were  not  ours.  But  in 
all  countries  lingers  the  tradition  that  the  bridegroom 
seizes  the  bride  as,  with  her  maidens,  she  goes  unes 
corted  by  him.  So  Pluto  seized  Proserpine  in  Enna. 
And  so  to  this  day  in  a  high  wedding  at  church  the 
bride  and  her  maidens  walk  up  the  aisle  with  the  flow 
ers  they  have  gathered  in  their  walk,  and  the  bride 
groom,  rightly  dressed,  with  his  men,  perhaps,  steps 
out  and  takes  her  for  his  own.  So  the  bride  walked 
with  her  maidens  that  day ;  so  at  an  ambush,  prepared 
and  known  of  all,  Telega  and  his  men  seized  her,  and 
then  the  procession  passed  on,  he  leading  her  to  the 
great  central  house  of  the  village,  where  the  rite  would 
come  to  an  end. 


350  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

.Well,  just  as  the  tomtoms  and  banjoes  were  doing 
their  best  that  day,  and  the  dancing-girls  dancing  their 
best,  down  came  a  dozen  Portuguese  slave-drivers,  with 
quilted  cotton  jackets  on,  such  as  turned  arrows,  and 
with  guns  loaded  and  matches  burning.  The  dancing- 
girls  shrieked  and  ran.  The  tomtom  men  and  boys 
ran.  And  Telega  and  his  father  and  his  friends  fought 
like  wild -cats.  But  what  had  they  to  fight  with? 
They  were  not  even  armed.  It  ended  in  the  Portu 
guese  rascals  clapping  handcuffs  on  seventeen  of  them 
and  marching  them  off  to  a  dhow  which  was  waiting 
for  them  on  the  river.  It  was,  as  the  traditions  agreed, 
at  the  very  bluff  where  the  Princess  Beatrice  was 
mending  her  connecting  -  rod  the  day  I  wandered  so 
far.  Tradition  is  far  more  accurate,  before  books, 
paper,  and  ink  come  in. 

What  happened  then  I  do  not  know.  But  it  is  clear 
enough  that  Telega  and  his  neighbors  were  not  used 
to  being  slaves,  and  that  they  led  the  Portuguese  a 
wretched  life.  They  knocked  them  down,  they  jumped 
overboard,  they  set  the  barracootas  on  fire,  and  at  the 
last  the  Portuguese  captain  was  glad  enough  to  trade 
Telega  off  to  a  man  whose  language  he  could  not  un 
derstand,  who  had  been  blown  south  from  Sallee,  a 
Moorish  port  where  he  had  been  trading.  This  man 
of  the  unknown  language  was  no  other  than  Nathan 
Gibbons,  a  master  who  had  sailed  out  of  Boston  in  a 
ship  rigged  as  a  brigantine,  whose  name  I  do  not  know. 
He  looked  around  him  in  the  Bight  of  Benin,  he  picked 
up  some  cotton  and  some  palm-oil  and  a  little  gold- 
dust,  lie  watered  his  vessel  and  went  back  to  Lisbon 
with  her.  What  happened  then  I  do  not  know.  I  do 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING  351 

know  that  four  or  five  months  after  the  wedding  was 
broken  up  Master  Telega,  the  bridegroom,  was  landed 
at  Gibbons's  wharf,  in  Boston.  I  know  that  Gibbons's 
uncle  was  selling  off  the  cargo,  and  that  Telega  was 
advertised  by  poster  and  by  town-crier  to  be  sold  as  a 
hearty,  strong  negro  boy,  just  arrived  from  Africa. 


Ill 

Thus  it  is  that  I  am  able  to  fix  the  date  much  better 
than  if  I  had  to  rely  on  that  business  of  the  double 
fists  and  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun. 

There  were  no  newspapers  in  Boston,  but  there  was 
a  great  deal  of  conversation,  and  whatever  was  posted 
on  the  town-pump  or  at  the  town-house  hard  by,  or 
above  the  whipping-post  or  on  the  front  of  the  meeting 
house,  was  rapidly  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth.  So 
was  it  that  the  week  had  not  ended  before  all  the  town 
knew  perfectly  well  that  a  "  Ginny  black"  was  offered 
for  sale.  And  in  one  and  another  conference,  in  which 
Winthrop  and  Dudley  and  John  Cotton  took  the  lead, 
as  they  came  out  from  the  Thursday  lecture,  the  mat 
ter  was  discussed  in  all  its  relations.  When  John  Cot 
ton  and  John  Wilson  went  into  the  meeting-house 
Thursday  morning  they  did  not  know  much  about  this 
matter,  and  far  less  did  they  know  what  they  thought 
about  it.  But  after  the  informal  conversation  with 
the  other  Elders  after  the  meeting  was  over  and  before 
they  left  the  house,  both  of  them  knew  very  well. 
Winthrop  knew  what  they  thought  and  Dudley  knew, 
for  in  a  fashion  Winthrop  and  Dudley  had  had  their 


352 

share  in  telling  John  Cotton  what  it  was  as  well  that 
he  should  think.  And  so  when  people  went  to  meeting 
on  Sunday  there  was  quite  a  general  impression  in 
the  congregation  that  before  they  came  out  they  would 
know  what  was  to  be  done  with  the  black  man. 

The  meeting-house  was  always  as  full  as  it  would 
hold.  On  this  occasion  Wilson  led  the  congregation 
in  prayer ;  then  he  " deaconed  out"  one  of  the  Psalms, 
as  versified  for  the  congregation.  Then  Cotton  led  in 
prayer,  and  after  the  prayer  he  announced  the  text  of 
his  discourse.  It  was  from  Revelation,  xviii.,  10,  11, 
12,  and  13 :  "  Alas,  alas,  that  great  city  Babylon, 
that  mighty  city !  for  in  one  hour  is  thy  judgment 
come.  And  the  merchants  of  the  earth  shall  weep  and 
mourn  over  her ;  for  no  man  buyeth  their  merchandise 
any  more  :  the  merchandise  of  gold,  and  silver,  and 
precious  stones,  and  of  pearls,  and  fine  linen,  and  pur 
ple,  and  silk,  and  scarlet,  and  all  thyine-wood,  and  all 
manner  vessels  of  ivory,  and  all  manner  vessels  of  most 
precious  wood,  and  of  brass,  and  iron,  and  marble,  and 
cinnamon,  and  odors,  and  ointments,  and  frankincense, 
and  wine,  and  oil,  and  fine  flour,  and  wheat,  and  beasts, 
and  sheep,  and  horses,  and  chariots,  and  slaves,  and  souls 
of  men." 

The  first  head  was  a  description  of  Babylon  in  all  its 
glory.  The  second  head  showed  that,  although  Boston 
was  but  a  small  town  now,  nay,  had  been  called  "  Lost 
Town  "  in  the  sneers  of  the  people  around  her,  there 
was  every  reason  why,  if  Boston  held  firmly  in  her 
loyalty  to  the  living  God,  King  of  kings  and  Lord  of 
lords,  Boston  should  have  more  wealth  and  trade  and 
rule  and  dominion  than  any  of  the  principalities  and 


353 

powers  of  the  heathen.  The  third  head  showed  that 
all  this  was  impossible  for  Boston  if  she  did  not  cleave 
to  the  living  God  and  did  not  live  by  His  commands. 
The  fourth  head  showed,  by  full  reference  to  the  books 
of  the  Old  Testament,  that  God's  people  made  no 
slaves  excepting  in  war.  The  fifth  head  pointed  out 
the  denunciations  of  the  prophets  against  the  Syrians, 
because  they  bought  and  sold  slaves  from  the  islands 
of  the  West.  And  the  sixth  head  brought  all  this  to  a 
close  in  its  denunciation  of  Babylon  because  she  traded 
in  souls  and  slaves. 

"  I  have  read  to  you,"  he  said,  "  from  the  Word  of 
God  the  names  of  some  of  those  things  which  perish 
with  the  using,  which  this  great  Babylon  bought  and 
sold.  I  have  read  to  you  also  the  names  of  treas 
ures  which  do  not  perish  in  the  using,  which  this 
Babylon  pretended  to  sell  and  to  buy.  It  is  all  as 
Boston  can  buy  corn  and  fish  and  fur,  as  Boston  can 
buy  beaver  and  otter  and  skin  of  mink  and  skin  of 
bear,  as  Boston  can  send  out  her  sassafras  to  England 
and  buy  her  cotton  from  the  Indies ;  so  could  Babylon 
buy  and  sell  cinnamon  and  frankincense."  And  then 
he  read  the  whole  verse.  "  But  woe  to  Babylon,  be 
cause  she  bought,  or  tried  to  buy,  the  souls  of  men! 
Babylon  the  Great  is  fallen,  because  she  bought  those 
slaves  which  her  merchants  captivated  far  away.  And 
woe  to  this  town,  which  we  thought  the  Lord  founded  ; 
woe  to  His  kingdom,  which  we  thought  was  to  come 
even  in  this  wilderness,  in  the  clay  Avhen  our  shipmen 
and  our  merchants  shall  carry  away  from  us  our  furs 
and  our  spices,  and  shall  bring  back  to  us,  for  a  recom 
pense,  slaves  and  the  souls  of  men !"  Then,  pausing 


354  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

for  a  moment,  he  went  on  to  address  the  King  of  kings 
in  prayer.  The  whole  congregation,  thrilled  and  ex 
cited,  rose  to  their  feet  and  stood  as  he  prayed,  pouring 
out  the  anger  of  his  eloquence  in  eager  words : 

"  O  Lord  God,  spare  Thy  people,  and  save  Thy  heri 
tage  !  Let  not  the  curse  and  the  damnation  fall  on 
this  place  which  fell  upon  those  heathen.  Let  not 
Thine  own  people,  the  sheep  of  Thine  own  pasture  and 
the  flock  of  Thine  own  hand,  stray  in  the  waste  in 
which  the  Gentiles  strayed.  Let  them  not  taste  the  fruit 
that  was  forbidden  ;  let  them  not  drink  of  the  waters 
of  Marah.  Save,  O  God,  save  in  this  Thy  time !  Blot 
out  from  the  book  of  Thy  remembrance  our  follies  and 
sins  in  the  days  that  are  past.  Remember  Thine  own 
infinite  mercy,  and  hold  fast  to  Thine  own  purpose  in 
the  redemption  of  this  land ;  and  show  Thy  people,  in 
the  light  and  majesty  of  Thine  own  Hohr  Spirit,  how 
to  undo  the  chains  that  they  have  bound  ;  how  to  turn 
back  from  the  paths  of  their  weakness  and  how  to  pro 
claim  liberty  to  the  captive.  Oh,  rule  in  this  Thy  land, 
Thou  who  art  King  of  kings  and  God  of  gods,  Thou 
Lord  of  hosts !  Rule  for  our  good,  and  do  not  trample 
us  under  the  feet  of  Thy  vengeance.  Save  us,  save,  we 
beseech  Thee,  O  Lord !  Lift  up  him  that  is  oppressed ; 
break  the  bonds  of  him  who  is  enslaved  and  set  the  pris 
oner  free.  Save  us,  Lord  Jesus,  who  hast  been  pleased, 
in  Thine  own  flesh,  to  lead  captivity  captive,  and  Thine 
shall  be  the  glory  and  the  honor,  the  power  and  the  do 
minion,  forever  and  ever.,  world  without  end.  Amen." 

And  then  he  directed  them  to  sing  the  Forty-fourth 
Psalm.  Wilson,  as  before,  gave  out  the  lines  one  by 
one,  and  the  congregation  all  joined  in  a  fashion  in  the 


355 

singing.  Wilson  pronounced  the  benediction,  and  the 
assembly  was  dissolved. 

There  is  no  diary  nor  note-book  which  gives  any  ac 
count  of  the  conversation  in  excited  circles  on  that  day 
or  the  next  day.  But  in  the  colony  records,  brief  as 
fate  but  no  less  decided,  is  the  memorandum : 

"  The  Court  wrote  to  Mr.  Williams,  of  Pascataq,  re 
questing  him  to  send  the  negro  which  he  had  of  Mr. 
Smyth,  that  they  might  send  him  back  to  Ginny." 


IV 

It  was  this  promptness  of  the  General  Court  which 
brought  about  the  dramatic  close  to  the  story,  as  it 
was  finally  told  me  by  my  four  interpreters. 

At  the  first,  even  after  the  interest  I  had  shown  in 
the  necklaces  and  in  the  book,  they  had  not  understood 
how  intense  was  my  curiosity  and  ho\v  eager  I  was  to 
gratify  it  in  every  detail.  As  I  have  intimated  already, 
they  had  one  detail  and  another  of  it  to  give  me,  such 
as  I  should  search  for  vainly,  though  I  should  go  up 
and  down  among  the  oldest  people  in  Boston  and  ask 
them  to  tell  what  they  remembered  of  October,  1645. 
Alas!  so  soon  as  we  give  ourselves  over  to  printing- 
presses  and  libraries  this  matter  of  tradition  from 
father  to  son  and  from  mother  to  daughter  dies  out. 
But  this  tale  of  the  days  and  weeks  and  months  which 
Telega,  the  "  Ginny  black,"  spent  in  Boston,  while  they 
were  waiting  for  a  mast-schooner  to  sail  from  Piscata- 
qua,  which  might  transfer  him  to  a  Guinea  trader, 
which  should  take  him  to  the  Congo,  this  tale  had  been 


356 

repeated,  without  any  ''Russian  scandal"  and  without 
any  vagueness  of  detail,  for  seven  generations.  Cotton 
and  Wilson  and  Winthrop  and  Dudley,  with  all  the 
pride  of  paper  and  ink,  have  been  more  reticent.  They 
have  not  told  whether  he  dined  with  them  or  break 
fasted  with  them  or  took  his  tea  with  them.  Winthrop 
has  not  told  by  what  efforts  of  interpreters  he  tried  to 
find  out  whether  this  man  knew  that  he  was  a  grand 
son  of  Ham  or  whether  he  did  not  know.  This  is  cer 
tain,  that  Telega  picked  up  some  words  of  English,  and 
I  found  that  they  still  had  the  name  of  the  shillings 
in  the  necklace ;  they  still  knew  and  could  speak  the 
word  Smyth  in  a  fashion,  and  more  plainly  the  word 
Cotton,  and  they  knew  as  well  that  the  wampum  neck 
lace  was  a  treasure  of  a  different  sort  from  the  string 
of  silver  and  gold. 

Telega  had  seen  and  driven  horses  and  oxen ;  Telega- 
had  been  taught  to  sail  in  a  boat  and  to  fish  with 
English  fishing-tackle;  Telega  had  once  been  trusted 
with  the  care  of  sheep ;  Telega  had  been  able  to  tell 
of  the  cocks  and  hens  for  whom  he  had  scattered  corn 
morning  and  evening;  and,  at  the  last,  when  Telega 
had  been  sent,  as  I  found,  to  the  Piscataqua  for  his 
farewell  —  sent  with  the  blessings  of  priests  and  the 
hearty  hand-shaking  of  many  others — he  had  been  told 
that  the  money  that  was  given  to  him  was  to  be  used 
for  any  purpose  of  his  passage,  if  he  should  find  him 
self  in  a  strait.  But,  as  the  reader  will  see,  he  fell  into 
no  misfortune  which  an  intelligent  black  like  himself, 
with  a  smattering  of  two  languages  now,  besides  his 
own,  could  not  fairly  meet.  He  had,  carried  in  a  bag 
at  his  neck,  concealed  under  his  clothing,  the  three  Joes 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING  357 

and  the  thirty-one  shillings  which  had  been  given  him 
by  the  Treasurer  in  the  town-house  in  Boston,  and  he 
had  brought  them  out  safely  when  he  arrived  at  his 
home.  He  had  also  brought  with  him  a  copy  of  the 
Scriptures,  which  he  had  been  made  to  understand  was 
more  precious  by  far  than  the  Joes  and  the  shillings. 
After  he  had  gained  some  little  knowledge  of  the  Eng 
lish  language  I  suppose  that  one  and  another  attempt 
had  been  made  to  rescue  his  soul  from  its  certain 
danger.  But  it  was  clear  enough  that  nobody  pre 
tended  that  he  had  thus  gained  any  understanding  of 
the  vital  truths  of  the  religion  of  John  Cotton.  There 
had  been  no  blasphemous  baptizing,  and  he  had  been 
left,  unwillingly,  I  dare  say,  to  worship  such  gods  as  he 
found  in  the  streams  or  the  stars.  Only  John  Cotton 
had  borne  his  testimony  in  a  fashion  by  folding  up  and 
giving  him,  as  a  precious  keepsake,  the  copy  of  the 
Bible  which  had  with  such  reverence  been  shown  to  me. 
As  soon  as  I  had  been  made  to  understand  this  I 
begged  that  the  book  might  be  brought  to  me  again. 
I  opened  and  examined  it  carefully,  hoping  to  find 
John  Cotton's  name  or  some  notes  from  his  hand.  But 
there  was  hardly  a  written  word.  Once  or  twice  a 
palpable  printer's  error  had  been  corrected.  For  the 
rest,  it  was  as  it  had  been  when  sent  to  Boston  from 
London.  Why,  oh,  why,  did  not  dear  John  Cotton,  if 
it  were  he,  write  something  on  that  fly -leaf,  which 
seemed  made  for  writing?  Or,  putting  it  in  general, 
why  did  people  who  wrote  so  much  that  is  dull  and 
said  so  much  that  there  was  no  need  of  saying  —  why 
did  they  hold  the  pen  just  when  we,  their  children,  are 
most  eager  to  read  and  to  hear? 


358  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 


This  ends  the  story,  so  far  as  the  Massachusetts  rec 
ords  go.  A  year  after  the  Bay  people  had  to  send 
back  a  "  Ginny  interpreter"  and  another  black,  who 
had  slipped  into  their  hands  in  much  the  same  way. 
Telega,  who  had  had  the  name  of  "  Cotton"  given  him 
also— in  sign,  I  suppose,  of  the  friendship  of  that  great 
preacher— went,  I  think,  to  Bristol  in  England.  Cer 
tainly  it  was  to  some  English  town  larger  than  the 
American  Boston.  Clearly  he  was  no  fool,  and  in 
Bristol  he  needed  no  one  to  take  care  of  him.  There 
were  enough  of  his  own  race  there,  though,  I  suppose, 
none  of  his  own  village.  For  a  special  reason  he  was 
eager  to  be  at  home.  He  had,  however,  to  take  care 
what  vessel  he  chose.  Fortunately  for  him  he  did  not 
choose  wrong. 

Whatever  the  vessel  was,  as  they  passed  the  latitude 
of  the  Strait  of  Gibraltar  they  fell  in  with  a  pirate 
rover  from  Sallee,  one  of  the  Moorish  ports.  Of  the 
fight  which  followed,  all  my  story-tellers  had  much 
more  to  tell  than  of  anything  that  happened  to  him 
in  Piscataqua  or  in  Boston.  In  that  fight  poor  Telega 
had  a  bullet  shot  through  his  chest,  and  of  this  shot, 
I  was  told,  he  bore  the  mark  when  he  died,  seventy 
years  after. 

His  real  dangers  did  not  begin — and  this  he  knew — 
until  he  was  in  the  Bight  of  Benin.  Had  not  his  Eng 
lish  captain  been  true  as  steel,  he  would  have  sold  him 
there  to  the  first  Portuguese  trader  he  found.  But 
Telega  had  not  chosen  a  knave  or  a  pirate  among  the 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING  359 

Bristol  ship -masters.  He  had  chosen  a  God-fearing 
man  who  would  have  kept  his  promise  though  he  had 
"  promised  to  his  loss."  I  was  told,  in  delightful  de 
tail,  how  he  was  kept  below  until  the  ship  was  fairly 
at  her  anchorage  off  the  mouth  of  the  river.  Then  I 
was  told  how  on  a  dark  night  in  July  he  was  called, 
and  how  the  English  captain  bade  him  good-bye.  He 
was  put  upon  a  boat,  with  a  good  store  of  hard  bread 
and  a  bit  of  dried  beef,  and,  what  he  prized  more,  what 
we  might  call  a  carbine,  a  short  fire-arm  or  long  pistol 
of  that  time,  with  a  horn  of  powder,  a  poucli  with 
match  and  bullets,  and  a  flint  and  steel.  The  captain 
fell  on  his  knees  on  the  deck  and  prayed  to  his  God, 
and  bade  Telega  good-bye.  A  sea-breeze  was  blowing, 
so  that  the  sailors  could  put  sail  on  the  boat,  and  when 
morning  came  she  was  well  up  the  river.  I  was  told 
how  long  they  hid  themselves  from  Portuguese  ma 
rauders,  and  then,  at  length,  which  I  could  have  well 
spared,  I  was  told  where,  at  last,  he  was  landed  on  the 
northern  bank — not  an  hour  too  early,  as  it  proved. 

In  what  followed,  in  this  long  story,  the  reason  ap 
peared  for  his  pressing  haste.  On  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  day  after  he  parted  from  his  Bristol  friends,  he 
came  out  on  the  hill-side  where  I  first  saw  the  village. 
It  was  a  year  to  a  day  since  his  wedding  procession 
had  been  interrupted  so  wretchedly.  He  knew  that, 
and  he  knew  what  depended  on  the  passage  of  a  year. 
By  all  the  customs  of  his  tribe  his  sweetheart,  his  al 
most  wife,  was  a  widow  for  that  year.  But  it  was 
for  that  year  only.  When  the  year  was  ended  she 
might  be  betrothed  again.  Telega  did  not  believe  that 
there  would  be  any  careful  astronomy  in  this  affair. 


360  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

He  knew  very  well  that  when  twelve  moons  were  over, 
every  man  in  the  village  would  think  he  had  a  right 
to  the  prettiest  girl,  and  the  most  charming  in  the  vil 
lage.  Here  was  his  reason  for  refusing  to  wait  with 
the  English  captain  till  he  should  have  gone  on  to 
Fernando  Po,  and  till  he  should  have  come  up  the  river 
to  trade  for  ivory. 

As  I  have  said,  he  was  not  an  hour  too  early. 

As  he  approached  the  village  no  one  met  him.  "  He 
was  afeared,  it  was  so  still."  This  was  Philip's  phrase 
to  me  in  interpreting.  He  hurried  all  the  faster.  He 
passed  a  close  grove  of  pepper-trees,  to  see  in  it  the 
pretended  ambush  of  a  bridegroom  and  his  men  in  full 
dress,  waiting  for  the  bride's  procession. 

Telega  had  been  stealing  along  as  a  cat  does,  and  this 
merry  group  did  not  see  him,  but  he  seems  to  have 
seen  his  advantage.  He  passed  them  on  the  instant, 
he  went  twenty  paces  farther,  he  hid  himself  under  a 
heavy  tuft  of  banana  plants,  and  he  had  not  to  wait 
long.  The  bride  came,  wretched  enough,  for  all  her 
bridal  toggery.  She  had  insisted  on  wearing  two  or 
three  sea-gull  feathers,  which  were  tokens  of  deepest 
mourning.  She  wept  as  if  she  were  at  her  husband's 
funeral.  She  flung  away  a  bunch  of  flowers  which  the 
new  bridegroom's  mother  gave  to  her.  None  the  less 
was  this  a  bridal  procession.  Banjoes  and  tomtoms 
and  the  whole  village  behind  and  before  made  this 
certain. 

A  large  stone  to-day  marks  the  corner  where  Telega, 
gun  in  hand,  sprang  out  like  a  tiger,  and,  in  literal  fact, 
seized  his  bride.  Pluto  was  not  less  expected  in  Enna. 
The  girl  screamed  now  to  some  purpose,  and  in  a  min- 


KING  CHARLES'S  SHILLING  361 

ute  was  sobbing  with  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  The 
banjoes  and  the  tomtoms  were  silent,  and  bridegroom 
number  two,  with  his  handsome  cohort  of  "best  men" 
— hearing  nothing  after  they  should  have  heard  music 
and  song — after  a  mysterious  minute  or  two  came  out 
from  their  lair  to  learn  what  had  hindered  the  pro 
cession. 

At  this  point  the  story,  which  I  heard  two  or  three 
times  at  least— once  as. we  went  up  the  river,  twice  as 
we  came  down— varied  in  its  forms.  Who  can  wonder, 
after  nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty  years?  But  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  when  Telega  caught  his  bride 
with  his  left  arm,  and  when  she  sobbed  on  his  shoulder, 
his  right  hand  held  the  matchlock,  and  he  blew  the 
match  to  be  sure  that  it  was  a  live  coal.  And  when 
that  braggart  bridegroom  number  two  came  up,  howl 
ing  and  storming,  Telega  turned  over  his  bride  to  one 
of  her  women,  dropped  the  gun  to  a  level,  and,  in  the 
very  classic  language  of  Mandara,  told  bridegroom 
number  two  that  if  he  did  not  keep  a  civil  tongue  in 
his  head  he  would  blow  his  brains  out.  Nay,  more,  I 
am  afraid  that  Elder  Cotton's  seed  had  sprouted  so  ill 
that  Telega  would  have  done  what  he  said  had  there 
been  occasion. 

But  there  was  no  occasion.  The  game  was  played 
through.  There  were  elders  in  the  village  who  had 
as  much  to  do  with  its  affairs  as  in  that  other  village 
of  mud- walls  and  thatched  roofs  called  Boston,  where 
John  Cotton  and  John  Wilson  and  Thomas  Dudley 
and  John  Winthrop  did  the  thinking  for  the  rest,  and 
told  them  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong.  Nay, 
the  evident  public  opinion  of  the  procession  was  in  favor 


362  SUSAN'S   ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

of  the  handsome  young  traveller,  who  had  been  in 
Europe,  not  to  say  America,  and  had  brought  home 
its  latest  fashions.  There  were  bride-maidens,  as  you 
saw,  and  they  Avhispered,  "  'Twere  better  by  far  to 
have  matched  our  fair  cousin  to  her  old  sweetheart." 
And  so,  after  some  flourishing  of  clubs  and  knives, 
much  scolding,  swearing,  threatening,  and  other  de 
bating,  three  or  four  elders,  much  like  those  I  have 
described,  I  think,  stilled  all  voices  and  bade  the  tom 
toms  and  the  banjoes  begin  again. 

I  doubt  if  it  were  the  march  in  Midsummer-Niyhfs 
Dream,  but  it  answered  every  purpose  of  that  mid 
summer  noonday  as  well.  Bridegroom  number  two 
sulked  off.  But  all  his  men  joined  in  the  procession, 
and  afterwards,  I  fancy,  partook  of  the  banquet.  And, 
though  his  cabin  was  not  occupied  for  a  day  or  two, 
a  sufficiently  good  cabin  wras  found  for  all  purposes  of 
Telega  and  his  bride. 

This  happy  conclusion  to  a  story  so  sad  was  brought 
about  when  the  General  Court  in  the  Bay  voted  to  send 
the  "  Ginny  black  man"  home.  But  I  should  never 
have  heard  of  it  but  for  King  Charles's  Shilling. 


FROM   MAKING   TO   BAKING 

I.— MAKING 

"  WHAT  is  it,  Arundel  ?"  said  the  president,  kindly. 
"  Take  a  chair,  Arundel.  I  hope  you  do  not  want  to 
go  as  all  the  rest  do." 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  want  to  go,  sir,"  said  Arundel, 
with  a  little  hesitation ;  "  but  1  cannot  stay.  When 
I  saw  you  in  January  I  thought  it  was  all  arranged. 
Indeed,  it  was  all  arranged,  as  perhaps  you  remember 
I  told  you.  But  I  have  had  bad  news  from  home. 
My  younger  sister  has  been  sick.  My  mother  must 
take  her  to  New  York  for  an  operation  in  the  hos 
pital.  And— in  short — there  is  no  money.  I  am  afraid 
this  is  the  same  story  which  all  the  others  tell  you." 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  Arundel,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you. 
But  you  must  not  be  discouraged,  my  boy.  Modern 
surgery  has  resources  which  we  knew  nothing  of  five 
years  ago ;  and  because  your  sister  goes  to  the  hospital 
you  must  not  think  she  is  not  to  come  out  again.  New 
York,  you  say?  Does  your  mother  know  them  all 
there?  Let  me  give  her  a  letter  to  my  brother  there. 
He  is  a  real  top-sawyer,  Arundel,"  said  the  kind  old 
man,  who  wanted  to  make  his  favorite  laugh.  In  an 
instant,  indeed,  he  was  arranging  for  the  sister,  as  if 
she  had  been  his  own  daughter,  and  as  if  this  was  the 
affair  Arundel  had  come  upon — as  it  was  not. 


364  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

All  this  happened  in  the  president's  office  of  Lansing 
College,  which,  as  all  the  world  knows  —  or  ought  to 
know  —  is  one  of  the  best  schools  of  practical  agricult 
ure  in  the  world. 

When  the  doctor  could  not  think  of  more  facilities 
for  John  Arundel's  sister  —  or  when  John  Arundel 
would  not  let  him — the  matter  returned,  about  which 
John  Arundel  had  come.  He  had  determined  to  leave 
the  college  for  Dakota  for  the  summer,  and  to  see 
something  more  of  the  practice  of  agriculture.  So 
many  of  the  other  fellows  had  done  the  same  thing, 
that  he  knew  very  well  what  he  was  proposing,  and 
so  did  the  president.  It  was  no  question  of  "  if," 
"whether,"  or  "maybe."  It  was  a  plain  bit  of  neces 
sity.  And  though  the  president  hated  to  have  him  go, 
as  Arundel  knew  he  would,  there  was  nothing  for  it. 
When  the  interview  had  ended,  which  was  all  kindness 
on  the  part  of  the  older  man,  as  it  was  all  respect  on 
the  part  of  the  other,  the  young  fellow  had  full  leave 
of  absence  for  six  months,  and  as  many  letters  of  intro 
duction  to  be  used  in  his  own  behalf  in  one  pocket  as 
in  another  he  had  for  his  sister's  advantage.  A  fare 
well  night  with  the  Sigma  Phi,  and  then  John  Arundel 
was  at  the  station  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  waiting 
for  the  night  express  to  take  him  westward  to  Chicago 
and  towards  the  bonanzas. 

His  first  sight  of  his  new  home  was  not  one  of  glad 
omen. 

"  You  will  have  to  wait,"  said  the  foreman,  to  whom 
he  had  been  sent  from  the  first  office  where  he  applied. 
"  I  am  going  to  a  funeral,  and  so  is  Mr.  Cutter — indeed, 
all  of  us  here  are ;  but  at  one,  if  you  will  be  here — or 


FROM   MAKING   TO   BAKING  365 

you  can  wait.  There  is  the  Tribune.  Only,  I  suppose, 
you  brought  this  with  you." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  said  Arunclel,  he  hardly  knew 
why.  But  he  had  been  alone  for  forty-eight  hours, 
and  it  was  the  instinct  of  companionship  which  spoke. 
It  was  then  explained  to  him,  as  they  walked  along, 
that  a  balky  horse  had  shied  or  started  or  backed,  no 
body  knew  what,  and  this  Mr.  Keating,  an  Englishman, 
whom  nobody  knew  much,  had  been  pitched  suddenly 
from  a  harrow  he  was  driving.  He  had  broken  his  skull 
and  never  spoke  again.  Such  was  the  welcome  which 
greeted  Arundel ;  and  in  the  offices  of  sympathy,  as  the 
heads  of  the  farms  came  around  the  dazed  widow  and 
her  children,  he  spent  his  first  hours  at  his  new  home. 

But  life  in  that  region  was  not  largely  given  to  offices 
of  sympathy,  or  to  other  ceremony.  Before  night  fell, 
Arundel  was  himself  handling  two  half-broken  horses 
as  well  as  he  could,  wondering  whether  either  of  them 
was  the  particular  brute  that  had  cost  Keating  his  life. 
From  time  to  time  he  met  another  man  on  duty  like 
his  own,  as  they  passed  and  repassed  in  the  occasions 
of  their  long  tours  of  service.  At  eight  in  the  evening 
his  day's  work  was  over.  He  took  his  horses  to  the 
stable,  and  rubbed  them  down,  and  waited  until  he  was 
sure  that  they  were  fed.  Then,  and  not  until  then,  he 
found  his  own  fodder  and  his  own  bed. 

A  neat  enough  bunk,  in  a  great  barrack  where  twenty 
or  more  men  slept  —  this  was  the  bed.  He  had  his 
choice  between  an  under  bunk,  where  a  Swede,  snoring 
loudly,  was  already  asleep  above ;  or  an  upper  bunk, 
where  the  man  below  did  not  snore  at  all.  Wisely  or 
not,  John  chose  the  latter.  There  was  little  question 


366  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

of  dressing  or  undressing,  and  little  discussion  in  the 
morning  as  to  whose  was  this  cardigan  or  that  shirt. 
For  every  man  slept  in  the  clothes  he  worked  in. 
There  was  no  doubt  whether  one  should  wake  or  not, 
for  the  hours  when  different  gangs  were  needed  were 
distinctly  proclaimed  as  approaching  fifteen  minutes 
precisely  before  they  came.  If  a  man  were  as  careful 
as  Arundel  was  about  his  work,  he  went  himself  to  the 
stable,  to  make  sure  there  was  no  delay  or  stupidity 
about  the  harnessing  of  the  span  he  had  to  begin  wrork 
with.  He  was  fond  of  horses,  and  they  soon  knew  it. 
There  were  some  sad  screws  on  the  place,  but  the  own 
ers'  interests  were  the  same  as  those  of  the  workmen 
in  this  matter,  and,  on  the  whole,  John's  four-footed 
partners  in  this  business  were  not  a  bad  company.  He 
soon  knew  them  all  and  they  knew  him.  And  he  soon 
knew  the  stable-hands  wrell  enough  to  do  much  as  he 
chose  in  the  selection  of  teams,  when  any  change  was 
made.  He  did  not  dislike  his  work,  and  knew  it  must 
be  done.  He  had  no  companionship  but  his  horses  in 
their  long  drives.  But  generally  he  knew  them  and 
they  trusted  him  ;  and  for  his  thoughts  there  were  al 
ways  home  and  the  boundless  future. 

With  thrashing  he  had  nothing  to  do.  He  was  one 
of  the  last  gang  of  reapers,  and  when  he  reported  his 
last  day's  work  in  that  affair  he  knew  that  the  im 
mense  winter  crop  was  in. 

"They  drove  their  handsome  horses  down,  they  drove  them  back 

again, 

While  click,  click,  click,  the  rattling  knives  cut  off  the  heavy  grain. 
Before  it  falls  the  waiting  straw  with  tightest  tie  is  twined, 
And  the  well-ordered  sheaves  are  left  in  still  array  behind." 


FROM    MAKING    TO    BAKING  367 


II.— CARRYING 

"  Mr.  Arundel,"  said  the  boss,  "  I  sent  for  you  to  ask 
you  if  you  could  go  with  this  wheat  to  Philadelphia?" 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  John,  and  he  started  as  he  said 
so,  for  he  had  been  wanting  for  a  week  to  go  to  the 
East,  and  yet  he  could  hardly  account  for  the  wish. 
He  knew  it  was,  to  some  degree,  sentimental.     For  a 
week  he  had  been  at  work  with  the  gang  of  men  who 
had  been  loading  these  very  cars  of  which  Mr.  Pegram 
had  spoken.      He  had  amused  himself  in  wondering 
whether  one  particular  wheat  grain  or  another  which 
walked  home  in  his  shoes  with  him  was,  or  was  not,  his 
own  production.     Had  he,  or  had  he  not,  a  share  in  its 
harvesting?     By  and  large,  or  speaking  in  general,  he 
had  now  done  wellnigh  everything  in  this  business  of 
giving  men  their  daily  bread.     Thus  he  had  been  on 
the  harrow  in  those  first  days,  he  had  driven  seeders 
for  other  days,  he  had  taken  all  his  turns  with  corn- 
planting  and  cultivating ;  and,  when  he  was  transferred 
to  the  wheat-harvesting  side,  he  had  not  lost  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  from  his  own  stents,  while  more  than  once 
he  had  taken  work  which  belonged  to  fellow-workmen. 
So  the  fancy  had  taken  him,  that  it  was  in  a  way  un 
kind  to  let  these  creatures  of  his  hand  go  off  on  their 
long  journey  without  offering  them  an  escort  at  the 
start.    Indeed,  he  knew  enough  to  know,  not,  of  course, 
which  cars  his  own  children  were  in,  but  that  it  was 
certain  that  these  three  last  trains  had,  each  of  them, 
hundreds  of  bushels  of  wheat  which  would  not  have 
existed  but  for  him. 


So  he  answered  Mr.  Peg  nun's  request  with  a  certain 
readiness  which  surprised  even  that  leader  of  men. 
But  in  that  office  there  was  little  reference  to  senti 
ment.  If  the  young  man  would  go,  that  was  enough. 

"  If  I  could  have  my  way,  Arundel,  those  four  cars 
you  loaded  last  should  not  go  at  all.  The  stuff  does  us 
no  good,  and  I  would  not  like  to  have  any  man  know 
who  shipped  it.  Anyway,  it  must  not  be  mixed  with 
the  rest.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  want  some  one  to 
go  with  it  to  Philadelphia  and  be  there.  Of  course,  I 
have  written.  But  I  know  what  letters  are.  If  you 
are  there,  you  will  see  that  a  separate  delivery  is  made 
and  a  separate  receipt  taken  for  it.  Here  are  the  num 
bers— C,  12,211,  23,419,  21,501,  and  11,798.'' 

Arundel  understood  perfectly.  He  did  not  say  so, 
but  he  knew  that  no  one  ought  to  be  surprised  if  all 
this  wheat  sprouted  before  they  came  to  the  Delaware, 
and  appeared  as  a  lovely  green  meadow  might  when 
the  cars  were  opened.  Again  he  said  he  should  be  glad 
to  go.  And  Mr.  Pegram  gave  him  a  note  to  the  local 
superintendent  to  ask  that  he  might  have  a  "  drover's 
pass  "  to  go  with  this  train  to  the  sea. 

The  local  superintendent  honored  this  request,  and 
John  found  himself  for  a  week  or  two  a  resident  of 
the  several  cabooses  which  carried  the  stern  lights 
of  the  trains  that  drew  the  four  fatal  cars  that  held 
the  musty  grain  of  which  the  firm  was  so  thoroughly 
ashamed. 

The  company  in  the  cabooses  was  not  large,  but  was 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  whom  this  moving 
world  brings  together.  In  each  caboose  were  eight  or 
ten  bunks  for  sleep;  four  seats  which  commanded  the 


FROM    MAKING    TO    BAKING 

bunk  above,  so  that  those  who  sat  there  could  look 
forward  or  aft  like  pilots  in  a  little  pilot-house,  and 
other  seats  on  the  ground-floor;  a  stove  where  you 
could  warm  up  your  coffee  or  a  plate  of  hash  for 
which  you  had  foraged  at  some  station,  or  could  even 
scramble  an  egg,  if  you  were  luxurious ;  two  packs  of 
cards,  black  beyond  belief  with  the  thumb  marks  of 
firemen  off  duty ;  one  or  two  old  newspapers,  and  a 
train  directory  of  prehistoric  times  —  these  were  the 
essential  appurtenances  of  these  moving  palaces.  Im 
agine  a  nine-cornered  bit  of  looking-glass  tacked  up  by 
the  side  of  a  window,  a  colored  lithograph  of  the  battle 
of  Resaca,  a  pretty  cigar  girl  in  flaunting  colors  of  the 
gaudiest  chromo,  each  nailed  up  for  study  and  admira 
tion,  and  a  few  comic  scraps  from  newspapers  pasted 
on  the  walls  of  the  car,  and  you  have  the  non-essentials. 

This  particular  caravan  was  bound  to  Philadelphia; 
for  it  was  foreordained,  though  John  Arundel  did  not 
know  this,  that  the  wheat  of  his  harvesting  should  be 
shipped  from  that  port  to  Antwerp.  Thirteen  days 
were  enough  for  the  land  journey,  and  on  the  four 
teenth  day  John  had  taken  his  duplicate  receipts  for 
the  several  cars  of  the  several  trains,  and  he  could  re 
port  with  absolute  certainty  that  the  idiotic  or  ab 
normal  wheat  had  gone  to  its  own  place.  The  truth 
is  that  it  was  not  nearly  so  bad  as  its  reputation,  and 
there  was  no  spring  garden  of  verdure  when  the  cars 
were  opened. 

It  was  John's  first  visit  at  the  seaboard,  if  an  arrival 
in  landlocked  Philadelphia  may  thus  be  called.  When 
he  left  the  elevator  office,  he  pushed  his  inquiries  up 
and  down  the  river,  and  soon  found  himself  at  the  pier 

24 


370  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

where  the  steamship  lay.  He  wondered  whether  he 
might  go  on  board,  tried  the  experiment,  and  found, 
as  in  a  busy  world  one  is  apt  to  find,  that  nobody  cared 
if,  whether,  who,  or  what  he  was,  and  that  he  might 
go  where  he  chose.  So  that  he  had  the  amusement  of 
examining,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  interior  of 
a  great  ocean  steamer.  It  was  then  and  there  that  he 
fixed  an  idea,  which  had  floated  vaguely  before  him 
in  his  long  caboose  journey.  He  determined  that  he 
would  go  to  Europe  in  the  Arteveld  if,  as  it  proved, 
she  carried  to  Antwerp  the  grain  which  was  the  fruit 
of  his  three  months'  industry. 

In  a  couple  of  days  more  this  was  determined.  He 
learned,  at  a  second  visit  to  the  elevator  office,  that  the 
Arteveld  would  take  several  thousand  bushels  of  wheat. 
And  though,  of  course,  no  man  knew  which  particular 
kernels  would  go  to  that  contingent,  John  easily  fig 
ured  out,  from  what  he  knew  of  the  elevator  com 
partments,  that  some  of  his  handiwork,  if  he  might 
call  it  so,  was  to  cross  the  water. 

So  John  put  on  a  cardigan  jacket  and  a  tweed  cap, 
and  went  to  the  engineer's  room  on  board  the  Arteveld 
and  engaged  himself  on  the  outward  trip  as  a  stoker. 
As  he  reported  for  duty  the  day  before  the  ship  sailed, 
carrying  his  little  kit  with  him  to  the  gangway,  a  cab- 
horse  at  his  side  fell  and  some  confusion  followed. 
Arundel  himself  helped  the  passengers  from  the  cab. 
It  proved  that  they  were  coming  to  see  the  Arteveld, 
and  he  showed  them  the  passengers'  gangway.  The 
faces  of  the  two  women  haunted  him  for  half  an  hour 
before  he  could  fix  them.  Then  he  recollected  that 
they  were  the  widow  and  daughter  of  Keating,  whom 


FROM    MAKING    TO    BAKING  371 

he  had  seen  at  the  funeral  which  began  his  service  on 
the  bonanza  farm.  The  dice-box  of  life  had  been  so 
shaken  that  he  fell  in  with  them  again  at  the  begin 
ning  of  this  second  act  in  his  drama. 


III.— SHIPPING 

Yes,  it  is  a  very  hard  life,  this  of  a  stoker  on  an 
ocean  steamer.  John's  wardrobe  was  not  large,  but  it 
was  much  larger  than  he  needed.  A  pair  of  drawers, 
a  pair  of  shoes— these  are  enough.  The  watches,  at 
that  time,  were  four  hours  each,  of  steady  wheeling  of 
coal  from  the  bunkers  to  the  furnaces — back  and  forth, 
back  and  forth,  with  hardly  a  change.  Then,  while  a 
man  was  off  duty  he  slept,  or  played  cards,  or  read,  or 
loafed  alone.  No  one  cared,  so  only  when  the  watch 
was  called  again  he  was  on  hand.  At  that  time,  on 
that  line,  there  were  but  two  daily  terms  of  duty,  the 
stokers  being  divided  into  three  watches.  And  at  this 
they  had  all  the  work  which  even  stout  young  men 
like  them  cared  to  do. 

But  nothing  lasts  forever.  The  mere  dead  monoto 
ny  of  this  thing  helped,  in  a  way,  the  hours  to  go  by, 
though  it  would  be  hard  to  say  that  they  ever  flew. 
The  men  of  the  watches  cared,  in  general,  little  for  the 
history  of  the  passage  of  the  ship,  and  knew  less.  But 
Arundel  was  inquirer  enough  to  put  himself  now  and 
then  into  a  costume  which  would  be  visible  on  the 
upper  decks,  and  he  found  that  they  were  making  a 
passage  better  than  was  usual  with  the  Arteveld.  In 
deed,  on  the  thirteenth  day  from  Philadelphia  they 


372  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,    AND    OTHERS 

were  at  Antwerp.  On  the  next  day  the  ship  was  de 
serted  by  all  these  butterfly  travellers  who  had  sup 
posed  that  she  was  rushing  through  the  ocean  for  their 
satisfaction,  and  that  more  serious  business  of  giving 
the  world  its  daily  bread  began.  For  Arundel,  he 
declined  all  invitations  to  return  in  the  ship.  He  took 
his  well-earned  wages  and  receipted  for  them,  went 
ashore  and  dressed  himself  like  an  Aryan  of  the  nine 
teenth  century,  abandoning  the  costume  of  a  savage 
of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  went  to  see  the  Antwerp 
Cathedral. 

He  spent  a  day  in  sight-seeing,  and  then  returned  in 
thought  to  his  Dakota  kernels.  How  were  those  quarts, 
pecks,  and  bushels  faring  which  had  no  friend  in  Europe 
excepting  him  ? 

Sure  enough,  at  the  pier  ("  on  t'  wharf"  is  what  An- 
t-werp  means)  he  found  his  children.  He  did  not,  in 
the  bottom  of  his  heart,  much  approve  of  the  way  in 
which  they  were  handled.  Antwerp  had  not  then  the 
facilities  she  has  now,  and  things  were  done  in  what 
seemed  a  primitive  fashion  to  this  young  critic  who  had 
seen  Chicago  and  Milwaukee.  But  he  knew  life  and 
his  own  limitations  too  well  to  offer  advice.  He  went 
from  place  to  place,  following  the  wheat  along  as  it 
travelled,  till  he  found  a  squad  of  men  and  of  women 
shovelling  the  grain  into  bags,  in  which  it  was  to  be 
carried  inland.  The  force  of  workmen  was  ridiculously 
small,  and  John  Arundel,  determined  to  see  what  he 
could  see,  went  to  the  foreman,  took  off  his  hat  as  he 
saw  the  others  do,  pointed  at  himself,  at  a  shovel,  and 
at  an  empty  bag,  and  looked  an  inquiry. 

The  Dutch  boss,  who  might  have  been  called  so  in 


FROM   MAKING   TO    BAKING  373 

his  own  language,  took  in  the  situation  in  an  instant, 
laughed  good-naturedly,  and  said,  in  perfectly  good 

English : 

"  You  want  to  go  to  work  ?  Certainly,  and  bring  a 
dozen  others,  if  you  will."  Then  he  took  John's  name, 
appointed  him  a  shovel,  and  in  five  minutes  more  he 
was  shovelling  corn  like  the  rest.  Only,  he  said  to  him 
self,  "How  in  the  world  did  he  know  I  was  a  Yankee?" 
As  if,  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot, 
in  the  twinkle  of  his  eye  and  his  gait  as  he  walked,  he 
was  not  pronounced  to  all  men  around  as  an  American. 

Before  a  week  was  over  he  could  make  himself  un 
derstood,  when  he  asked  for  his  bread-and-butter  at 
the  workmen's  lodging-house  to  which  the  friendly  boss 
had  directed  him.  Every  night  at  some  theatre  of  the 
people,  Sunday  at  church,  he  listened  with  all  his  ears 
to  the  new  dialect ;  and  it  did  not  seem  so  unfamiliar 
to  him.  And  when,  at  the  end  of  ten  days,  in  which 
his  grain  and  much  more  grain  had  been  "sacked"  at 
last,  by  the  joint  efforts  of  some  dozens  of  them  of 
both  sexes  and  all  nations,  John  was  quite  ready  for  a 
new  adventure. 

He  was  standing  in  the  office,  with  the  afternoon 
report  of  the  bags  which  his  gang  had  filled,  tied,  and 
delivered,  when  a  well-to-do  Flemish  miller  was  talking 
with  the  boss.  John  understood,  after  a  minute,  that 
the  miller  wanted  to  hire  a  hand.  Without  a  second's 
thought,  finding  that  his  employer  was  looking  at  him, 
he  said,  as  the  miller  stopped  speaking,  "Ask  him  if  I 
shall  do."  The  boss  laughed,  and  said  he  was  thinking 
of  proposing  it.  The  miller  was  easy  to  please.  He 
expected  to  pay  little,  and  he  knew  the  world  too  well 


374  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

to  expect  to  receive  much.  American  wheat  was 
wholly  new  to  him.  And  perhaps  an  American  mill- 
hand  might  give  points  for  the  grinding.  The  bargain 
was  soon  made,  and  John  bade  his  friendly  boss  good 
bye  forever,  to  report  on  Friday  morning  at  the  train 
for  Little  Merode. 


IV.— GRINDING 

American  wheat  was  certainly  a  novelty  in  all  that 
region.  Indeed,  if  Mr.  Fraikin  had  not  been  a  very 
new-fangled  and  impetuous  man,  it  was  generally 
agreed  that  there  would  be  no  American  wheat  there 
now.  But  the  truth  was  that  the  local  harvest  of  all 
that  region  had  virtually  failed.  Of  course,  a  few 
bushels  of  wretched  grain  would  be  found  here  and 
there.  But  unless  people  meant  to  live  on  roots  and 
acorns  and  oatmeal,  the  stuff  of  which  white  bread  is 
made  must  be  brought  from  somewhere  else.  And  so 
Mr.  Fraikin  had  determined  that  he  might  as  well 
grind  it,  as  he  had  the  stones  and  the  mills,  as  let  his 
stones  be  mould- worn  for  want  of  use,  and  his  machinery 
rust  before  his  eyes.  Great  were  the  wonderings,  in 
more  languages  than  one,  as  the  bags  of  foreign  wheat, 
seen  here  for  the  first  time,  were  transferred  to  his 
simple  granaries. 

It  was  Saturday  night  when  this  transfer  was  com 
pleted,  after  a  day  of  hard  work  by  the  very  limited 
force  of  horses  and  men  which  had  it  in  charge.  Arun- 
del  recommended  himself  at  once  by  his  handiness  with 
the  great  Flemish  horses  that  took  so  large  a  part  of 


FROM    MAKING    TO    BAKING  375 

this  business.  He  tried  his  new  accomplishment  in 
speaking  Flemish  with  the  other  hands,  had  his  neat 
quarters  assigned  him,  and  thanked  God  that  the  next 
day  there  would  be  no  work  to  do.  At  breakfast  he 
appeared  in  his  Sunday  suit,  a  queer  enough  contrast 
in  appearance  to  his  fellow- workmen  in  theirs.  When 
the  bells  rang,  a  group  of  them  walked  to  the  church 
together.  In  the  church  porch  and  outside  they  all 
lingered.  John  did  not  know  why ;  but  he  did  know 
that  "  The  dumb  man's  borders  still  increase,"  so  he 
asked  no  questions,  waited,  and  learned.  After  a  min 
ute  or  more,  the  family  of  Mr.  Fraikin  drove  up  in 
two  carriages  to  the  little  church,  and  with  some  cere 
mony  alighted.  Then  John  saw  that  all  the  group 
with  him  uncovered  themselves,  for  the  first  time,  and, 
as  the  family  entered,  joined  themselves  to  the  little 
procession  as  if  they  were  of  the  family  also.  In  the 
church,  a  dozen  or  twenty  chairs,  together,  seemed  to 
have  been  waiting  for  them.  In  these  they  all  sat 
down,  and  after  hats  and  parasols  and  shawls  had  been 
arranged,  and  hymn-books  handed  from  one  to  another, 
John  saw  that  the  young  woman  who  sat  next  to  him, 
who  was  one  of  those  who  came  in  the  second  carriage, 
was  the  daughter  of  John  Keating,  the  same  with 
whom  he  had  crossed  the  ocean,  and  whom  he  had 
first  seen  at  her  father's  funeral. 

Grinding  by  wind-power  is  a  very  different  business 
from  grinding  by  steam.  And  the  quaint,  queer  wind 
mills  where  John  Arundel  was  now  at  work  always 
seemed  to  him  as  if  they  had  stepped  out  of  one  of 
Rembrandt's  pictures.  There  are  days  when  no  whis 
tling  will  bring  a  breeze,  and  after  all  has  been  done 


376  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

that  can  be  done  in  the  way  of  holy-stoning  floors  and 
other  cleaning  up,  of  patching  and  other  repairing,  a 
good  deal  of  time  goes  by,  with  this  or  that  hand  lying 
on  the  shady  side  of  the  mill,  smoking  or  lounging,  or 
singing  with  the  others.  On  such  a  day  John  Arun- 
del  lay  on  the  ground  reading  a  copy  of  the  Journal 
des  Enfans  which  had  stra}^ed  into  the  office,  when  a 
party  of  children  from  the  house  came  running  up  in 
their  play.  John  caught  a  ball  which  one  of  them 
threw,  and  gave  him  a  return  ball,  to  the  little  fellow's 
great  glee.  In  a  moment  the  boy  had  run  up  and  was 
talking  to  him,  and  so  in  a  minute  more  he  found  him 
self  on  his  feet,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  talking  to 
Lucy  Keating,  the  children's  governess.  To  both  of 
them,  of  course,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  talk  English. 

A  minute  more,  and  another  of  the  children  reported. 
This  was  the  oldest  of  all,  Hilda,  who  had  torn  the 
ribbon  from  her  hat,  and  brought  it  up  for  repairs. 
Miss  Keating  was  not  unused  to  such  accidents,  pro 
duced  needle  and  thread,  and  set  things  in  order,  while 
John,  on  his  part,  stood  the  cross-questioning  of  all  the 
children,  who  knew  the  mills  well  and  all  their  belong 
ings,  as  to  the  American  wheat  and  ho\v  it  came  there. 
It  was  quite  natural  for  him.  to  turn  to  Miss  Keating 
and  say,  "  I  do  not  know  if  you  know  that  this  famous 
wheat  came  in  the  Arteveld.  I  saw  you  on  board  of 
her." 

She  started  with  some  surprise,  and  owned  she  had 
not  seen  him.  He  laughed  and  said  she  would  not  be 
likely  to  see  him,  and  told  of  his  engaging  himself  as  a 
stoker.  "  No,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  certainly  saw  nothing 
of  your  under-water  place  of  torment,"  and  then  she 


FKOM   MAKING    TO    BAKING  377 

paused,  and  said  almost  unconsciously,  "  but  I  was  sure 
I  had  seen  you  somewhere,  when  we  met  in  the  church 
on  the  first  Sunday."  Arundel  did  not  say,  of  course, 
that  it  was  at  her  father's  funeral  that  they  had  met, 
but  something  in  the  sad  expression  of  his  face  re 
minded  her  how  she  had  looked  up  once  as  she  had 
stood  by  an  open  grave  and  had  seen  his  expression 
of  sad  sympathy.  But  she  only  said,  "  Ah,  yes !  I  re 
member  now,"  and  at  once  called  the  children  to  go 
farther  on  their  walk. 

You  see  it  had  happened,  as  we  say  for  convenience, 
that  on  the  famous  journey  to  Antwerp,  on  which  Mr. 
Fraikin  had  bought  the  American  wheat,  his  wife  had 
commissioned  him  to  bring  her  an  English  governess. 
And  so  it  happened  that  he  had  gone  to  his  cousin,  the 
wife  of  the  Reverend  Herr  Pastor  Somebody,  and  it 
had  happened  again  that  she  had  been  told  the  week 
before  of  Lucy  Keating  and  her  wish  to  find  a  place  as 
English  teacher,  and  so  it  happened  that  she  and  Mr. 
Fraikin  and  John  Arundel  had  all  gone  together,  in 
different  cars  of  one  train,  to  Little  Merode,  and  so  it 
happened  that  they  were  talking  together  in  English 
here  and  now. 


V.— MIXING 

"  You  teach  so  sweetly  the  English,  dear  Mees  Lucy, 
and  you  show  so  well  Karl  his  algebra,  and  he  so  de 
lights  the  playing  with  you  his  duets,  that  it  is  indeed 
wicked  that  no  one  has  taught  you  also  the  Latin." 
Such  was  the  intelligible  statement,  meant  to  be  com 
plimentary,  which  was  made  to  Lucy  Keating  by  Ma- 


378  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

dame  Fraikin,  when  it  was  determined  that  Karl  must 
go  to  the  Lycee  at  Bruxelles  for  his  Latin. 

He  was  a  quiet  boy,  but  when  he  heard  this  he  said : 
"  Why  does  not  Jan  teach  me  my  Latin— Jan  at  the 
mill,  I  mean  ?  lie  knows  Latin  better  than  the  Herr 
Pastor  does,  or  any  one  else.  He  reads  Latin  in  a  little 
book  he  has  in  his  pocket."  In  fact,  Karl  had  found 
Arundel  reading  from  his  pocket  Horace,  in  one  of 
those  days  of  calm. 

Lucas,  the  cross  cousin  who  lived  with  them,  learning 
to  be  a  miller,  and  snubbing  the  children  by  way  of 
relaxation,  laughed  at  this,  and  said  Karl  did  not  know 
the  difference  between  Latin  and  English  or  French. 
His  interpellation  was  fortunate,  for  it  enlisted  the 
boy's  mother  on  his  side.  She  did  not  want  to  send 
him  away  from  home,  and  would  not  have  thought  of 
it  but  that  his  father  had  made  a  point  of  the  Latin. 

It  was  known  that  Mees  Lucy  had  known  Arundel 
in  America,  and  now  she  was  summoned  into  council. 
By  this  time  she  knew  that  he  was  a  senior  from  Lan 
sing,  and  had  taken  the  "academical  course"  there. 
She  said  that  he  could  not  have  gone  so  far  without 
knowing  Latin  well.  She  had  heard  him  say  he  had 
been  a  teacher,  but  what  he  had  taught  she  did  not 
know.  In  truth,  she  had  only  met  him  two  or  three 
times,  as  the  younger  children  had,  when  she  had  them 
with  her  out  of  doors. 

But  this  was  quite  enough  for  Madame  Fraikin. 
And  when  the  new  week  began,  it  was  quite  settled 
that  John  should  begin  every  day  at  the  house,  with 
two  hours'  teaching  of  Karl  in  his  Latin.  At  the  mills, 
also,  his  functions  changed,  and,  as  he  came  to  speak 


FROM    MAKING    TO    BAKING  379 

Flemish  more  and  more  easily,  he  found  himself  as 
signed  to  those  hundred  and  one  duties  of  detail  or 
supervision  which  come  of  course  in  an  old-time  es 
tablishment  like  that,  where  there  is  none  too  much 
system, *but  where,  somehow,  if  you  are  not  impatient, 
everything  gets  itself  done  in  time. 

And  when  Christmas  came,  this  mad  but  wise  specu 
lation  of  M.  Fraikin  in  the  American  wheat  had  been 
repeated  once  and  again,  with  a  success  which  sur 
prised  every  one  who  does  not  know  how  to  combine 
madness  and  wisdom.  At  first  he  went  to  Antwerp 
to  buy  the  wheat  himself;  afterwards  he  sent  Monsieur 
Jan,  as  Arundel  was  generally  called.  Then  Monsieur 
Jan  told  him  how  he  could  send  his  own  orders  by 
telegraph  to  America,  and  land  his  own  wheat  some 
times  in  Havre.  And  there  was  not  a  baker  in  Hesdin, 
or  Hasebrouck,  or  Arras  but  had  come  to  see  the  mill 
ing,  to  feel  of  the  flour  and  taste  it,  and  at  last  to  buy. 
And  when  the  great  French  army  contractors,  Badaud 
and  Yaurien,  actually  were  forced  by  their  principals 
to  buy,  because  General  Boulanger  had  seen  some  of 
the  American  bread  at  a  dinner  given  by  the  mayor 
of  Guise,  then  the  triumph  of  M.  Fraikin  and  of  the 
wise  madness  was  complete. 

As  to  the  prosperities  of  family  life  which  followed, 
such  as  Madeleine's  new  pony  and  her  mother's  dog 
cart,  the  children  associated  them  all  with  the  arrival, 
side  by  side,  of  Monsieur  Jan  at  the  mills  and  Mees 
Lucy  in  the  school-room ;  for  which  theory  of  theirs, 
as  the  reader  knows,  there  was  less  or  more  founda 
tion. 


380  SUSAN  S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

What  became  clear  enough  to  Monsieur  Jan  and 
Mees  Lucy  in  long  walks  together  of  Saturday  after 
noons,  in  reading  Shelley  and  Tennyson  together,  in 
puzzling  over  Egmont  and  Wallenstein  together,  by 
way  of  helping  Madeleine  in  her  German,  was  that 
they  did  things  together  a  thousand  times  better  than 
they  could  do  them  alone.  He  found  out  that  he  could 
not  live  without  her,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not 
live  without  him.  He  told  her  so  one  day,  and  she 
blushed  and  smiled,  and  tried  to  speak,  and  at  last  did 
speak,  and  told  him  that  he  made  her  very  happy. 

But  when  he  came  to  speak  to  M.  Fraikin  about  this, 
and  to  say  that  he  wanted  to  return  to  America  to  pro 
vide  a  home  for  her,  that  mad- wise  man  would  not 
hear  of  it.  Home  in  America,  indeed !  Belgium  was 
emptying  herself  that  people  might  make  homes  in 
America.  There  were  more  empty  houses  in  Belgium 
than  in  the  United  States.  Why,  here  was  the  old 
cottage — that  they  say  Louis  XIV.  slept  in — with  a 
little  new  shed  for  the  cow,  and  a  piazza  in  front,  and 
a  bow- window  at  the  side,  it  would  be  a  charming  place 
for  a  young  couple.  Monsieur  Jan  should  stay  on  a 
salary,  and  introduce  those  steel  buhrs  he  was  always 
talking  about ;  and  they  should  be  married  at  Easter. 


VI.— BAKING 

Married  at  Easter  they  were.  Mrs.  Keating  came 
over  from  Bromwich  for  the  wedding.  When  it  came 
to  the  making  of  the  cake  there  was  a  great  ceremo 
ny,  half  Belgian,  half  English,  and  half  American.  All 


FROM    MAKING   TO   BAKING  381 

the  ladies  proceeded  in  state  to  the  kitchen  to  assist 
and  superintend.  Behind  them,  M.  Fraikin  and  Karl 
and  Monsieur  Jan  lugged  a  sack  of  wheat  flour.  Then 
it  was  formally  opened,  and  Lucy  herself  thrust  in  a 
tin  scoop  once  and  again  and  lifted  the  good  flour  her 
self,  and  poured  it  into  the  pans.  And  then,  by  arts 
known  to  them,  she  and  Madame  Fraikin  and  Mrs. 
Keating  mixed  the  cake  and  baked  it. 

And  Karl  concocted  a  jingling  poem,  which  may  be 
translated  thus : 

"  This  is  the  cake  mamma  made  ; 
It  was  made  from  the  meal  papa  made. 
It  was  ground  in  the  mill  you  all  of  you  know, 
Which  grandmamma's  grandpapa  built  long  ago  ; 
And  the  good  God  sent  all  the  winds  to  blow, 
And  make  the  wheels  fly  round,  that  so 
We  should  have  the  meal  papa  made. 

"  The  corn,  it  came  in  Miss  Lucy's  ship 
In  which  she  crossed  the  terrible  deep. 
They  sailed  by  night  and  they  sailed  by  day. 
Till  they  all  had  sailed  the  whole  of  the  way ; 
And  the  corn  has  never  stopped  nor  stayed 
Till  now  in  the  cake  mamma  has  made. 

"  The  corn  was  made  by  Monsieur  Jan — 
A  very  wonderful  corn-making  man. 
He  took  a  spade  and  dug  in  the  ground, 
And  planted  some  grains  of  corn  he  found ; 
And  the  good  God  sent  the  winds  to  blow 
And  the  sun  to  shine  that  the  corn  might  grow, 
And  He  told  Monsieur  Jan  the  wheat  to  take 
And  give  Miss  Lucy  a  wedding  cake. 

And  here  is  the  corn  that  Jan  made." 

And  at  the  wedding  supper  Master  Karl  was  made 


382  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

to  read  his  ode,  with  great  applause,  before  Lucy  cut 
the  cake. 

And  when,  the  next  morning,  she  and  Jan  had  their 
first  breakfast  in  the  King  Louis  cottage,  she  would 
not  let  him  touch  a  mouthful  of  anything  else  till  he 
and  she  had  broken  a  biscuit  which  she  had  made  from 
the  Arteveld  flour.  This  was  their  wedding  sacrament. 


THE   FIRST   GRAIN   MARKET 

THE  girl  sang  cheerily,  as  she  took  her  place  in  the 
canoe : 

"The  squirrel  said  'cliee'  to  the  wood-thrush, 
The  wood-thrush  said  '  whee '  to  the  squirrel, 

And  the  sun  rose. 
The  squirrel  hid  in  the  bark, 
And  the  wood-thrush  flew  to  the  south, 

But  the  sun  rose." 

And  sure  enough,  as  she  sang,  the  first  bright  line 
of  the  sun's  disk  could  be  seen  above  the  horizon's 
edge. 

She  pointed  to  it  gaylj7. 

The  boy  was  evidently  more  fond  of  his  sister  than 
we  are  taught  to  believe  is  the  habit  of  these  people. 
And  it  was  clear  that  she  knew  how  to  make  him  fond 
of  her.  She  sat  in  the  bow  of  her  canoe,  now  hum 
ming  the  refrain  of  her  song,  if  it  may  be  called  so, 
and,  once  and  again,  when  he  asked  her,  singing  such 
words  as  she  fancied  at  the  moment.  All  the  time, 
with  split  porcupine  quills,  she  was  embroidering  for 
him  an  ornament  for  the  handle  of  a  canoe-paddle. 
The  quills  of  different  colors  lay  in  the  lap  of  her  deer 
skin  coat,  and  the  quaint,  simple  pattern  came  out,  to 
his  delight,  more  and  more  plainly,  as  she  sang  and  as 
he  paddled  the  boat  along. 


384 


SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 


The  canoe  had  been  lying  in  a  little  ditch,  cut  for  the 
purpose  in  the  black  mud  of  the  bank  of  what  we 
should  now  call  a  bayou.  They  pushed  out  under  the 
heavy  shade  of  the  canebrake,  upon  the  waters  of  the 
motionless  lake,  which  had,  in  fact,  been  left  by  the 
river,  in  an  old  change  of  levels,  but  was  still  three  or 
four  feet  deep.  The  surface  was  covered  in  some 
places  by  large,  round,  green  shields,  the  leaves  of 
lotuses,  and  both  boy  and  girl  looked  curiously  for  the 
great  seed-vessels.  Now  and  then,  as  they  shot  by,  he 
cut  off  a  ripe  head  with  the  copper  knife  which  hung 
at  his  belt.  He  would  toss  the  very  ripest  to  her,  and 
she  would  open  the  great  cup  and  shake  out  the  seeds, 
to  crack  and  nibble  as  they  sailed.  On  the  velvety  sur 
face  of  the  great,  green  leaves  of  the  plants  were  round 
diamond  drops,  beautiful  as  if  they  had  indeed  come 
from  Golconda.  Close  before  them,  on  the  dull  surface 
of  the  lake,  were  thousands  upon  thousands  of  water 
birds,  quite  indifferent  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  voy 
agers  until  the  boat  was  close  upon  them.  Then  one 
and  another,  perhaps  a  hundred  at  a  time,  would  rise, 
always  facing  the  wind.  It  seemed  for  a  moment  as 
if  they  ran  across  the  surface  of  the  water  till  there 
was  momentum  enough,  if  joined  with  the  movement 
of  the  wind  in  the  opposite  direction,  to  lift  the  bird 
into  the  air.  It  was  precisely  as  a  boy  runs  with  his 
kite,  to  give  it,  by  his  earthly  running,  a  chance  to  fly. 
The  air  once  caught,  the  bird  stopped  the  motion  of 
its  web-feet,  and  the  wings  lifted  it  on  its  way,  long 
streams  of  white  foam  following  after  the  fugitives, 
the  babble  of  which  was  like  the  babble  of  a  moun 
tain  stream.  The  boy  pushed  his  canoe  along  through 


THE    FIRST    GRAIN    MARKET  385 

lilies,  lily -pads,  lotus  leaves,  and  the  bubbles  left  by 
the  escape  of  birds,  and  two  or  three  minutes  of  such 
rapid  paddling  as  his  brought  them  both  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  great  plantation  (shall  one  call  it  ?)  of  wild- 
rice,  to  which  he  had  promised  to  bring  her. 

The  exquisite  plants  rose  above  the  girl's  head,  even 
when  she  stood  in  the  canoe,  four,  even  five  times  as 
high  as  she  was.  The  wild-rice  can  hardly  be  described 
to  one  who  has  not  seen  it,  so  delicate  and  fine  are  the 
highest  stems,  each  bearing  a  beautiful  chandelier  of 
the  blossoms  and  of  the  ripened  fruit.  A  leaf  of  deli 
cate  green  hangs  right  and  left  from  a  round  stem  as 
green,  and  on  the  very  top  stem  of  all  are  clustered  the 
long  spikes  of  rice,  daintiest  of  food  for  ducks  and  teal, 
and  not  to  be  despised  by  men. 

The  girl  clapped  her  hands  as  she  saw  how  plenteous 
was  the  harvest,  and,  in  joyful  smiles,  she  expressed 
her  pleasure  to  her  brother.  Into  the  mouth  of  the 
smallest  and  narrowest  creek  which  can  be  conceived 
he  drove  the  boat.  She  helped  him,  by  pulling  hard 
at  the  stems  of  rice  on  the  right  hand  and  the  left, 
until  they  were  completely  embosomed  in  it,  he  at  his 
end  and  she  at  hers.  Then  he  took  the  paddle  which 
he  had  been  using,  and,  as  she  bent  down  the  tall  stems 
in  a  line  over  the  boat,  he  beat  them  thoroughly.  Or 
she  herself  used  the  paddle  of  which  she  had  worked 
the  handle,  while  he  bent  down  stems  for  her  to  work 
upon.  Then  they  pushed  the  boat  farther  and  farther 
in.  The  ripe  grains  piled  up  upon  the  bottom  and 
around  their  feet.  It  was  rough  harvesting,  but  was 
ample.  When  the  boat  would  go  no  farther  up  that 
particular  creek,  he  backed  out  into  the  lake  again  and 


386  SUSAN'S  ESCOET,  AND  OTHERS 

found  another.  It  was  not  half  an  hour  before  the 
canoe  had  all  the  cargo  she  could  float,  and  boy  and 
girl  both  sat  gingerly  as  he  turned  her  head  home 
ward  to  her  little  dock,  and  again  drove  the  congress 
of  web-footed  senators  away.  As  they  came  into  the 
trench  which  had  been  cut  in  the  hard  mud,  the  grace 
ful  girl  sprang  lightly  ashore,  but  turned  again,  with 
what  in  opera  we  should  call  a  gesture  of  goodie. 
He  knew  he  need  only  wait  for  her  a  moment.  Sure 
enough,  she  was  back  again  as  soon  as  she  had  time 
to  run  to  the  tepees  and  to  return.  And  this  time  she 
was  heavily  laden  with  a  great  string  of  baskets,  Avhich 
she  had  fastened  together  and  carried  on  a  long  hickory 
stick  above  her  head.  The  load  was  indeed  too  heavy 
for  her,  and  her  brother  ran  up  the  path  to  help  her. 

"  JSTow  you  see  why  I  have  been  so  busy  all  the 
summer,  and  all  through  the  time  of  harvest,  while  the 
other  girls  have  been  singing  and  dancing  and  fooling 
away  their  time." 

"  I  see  that  the  baskets  are  for  the  rice,  and  I  see 
that  they  will  empty  the  canoe,  but  I  do  not  see  why 
you  and  I  should  gather  rice  for  the  others.  And  I 
do  not  know  why  we  should  go  before  the  others  are 
ready." 

"  The  others  ?  The  others  ?"  said  she— this  with  a 
merry  laugh,  but  with  a  gesture  of  scorn.  "  As  if  I 
meant  to  work  for  them  !  For  them,  indeed  !  Let  them 
work  for  me ! 

"  No,  White-wings,"  and  now  she  spoke  more  seri 
ously,  "  none  of  our  rice  will  go  into  their  storehouse. 
I  will  do  my  share  when  the  time  comes,  but  this  is 
not  for  them. 


THE    FIRST    GRAIN    MARKET  387 

"  White-wings,  keep  in y  secret.  Help  me  build  my 
grain-house  and  cover  it.  Go  with  me  two  more  morn 
ings,  that  we  may  have  three  canoe-loads  in  all.  Help 
me  pack  it  in  the  baskets — I  have  baskets  enough — 
and  be  ready  to  move  it  when  the  time  comes. 

"  White- wings,  do  this  for  me,  and  you  shall  have 
the  white  totem.  You  shall  have  the  white  pine-tree." 
And  the  girl  put  her  hand  under  her  leather  jacket, 
and  drew  out,  hanging  to  a  cord  of  deer's  sinew,  a 
round  bit  of  silver,  on  one  side  of  which  was  a  rude 
image  of  a  pine-tree. 

The  boy  knew  that  it  was  the  most  precious  thing 
she  had.  lie  had  coveted  it  as  the  rarest  of  treasures, 
and  now  she  offered  it  to  him  for  his  own. 

"  White-wings,"  she  said,  "  before  I  made  the  first 
basket  I  had  a  dream.  I  dreamed  that  six  black 
swans  —  oh,  so  large! — would  come  down  the  lake 
shore.  And  in  the  dream  they  stopped  and  bent  their 
long  necks,  all  of  them,  where  I  stood.  And  I  knew 
they  wanted  rice,  and  I  gave  them  rice,  and  the  tallest 
swan  of  all  gave  to  me  a  kernel  of  yellow  corn. 

"  I  waked  from  my  dream,  and  that  morning  I  began 
to  make  my  baskets,  that  I  might  have  the  grain  ready 
for  the  swans  when  they  should  come. 

"And  I  dreamed  another  dream.  This  time  there 
came  six  blue  herons,  and  they  bent  their  long  necks 
as  they  stood  on  their  long  legs.  And  I  gave  each  of 
them  a  fish,  and  they  flew  away.  Then  I  worked  all 
the  harder,  that  I  might  be  ready  for  the  herons  when 
they  came. 

"  And  three  nights  ago  I  dreamed  again.  And  this 
time  six  red  deer  came  running  from  the  east.  And 


388  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

they  were  not  afraid  of  me.  They  came  and  nibbled 
grains  of  ripe  rice  from  my  hand.  And  I  woke  up 
when  I  felt  their  cold  noses  on  my  fingers. 

"  That  time  I  came  to  you,  and  my  good  brother  has 
helped  me  to  fill  the  baskets." 

As  she  talked  they  filled  the  baskets  with  the  ripe 
grain,  and  carried  them  where  they  could  cover  them 
with  corn-leaves,  under  an  old  willow.  In  hard  work 
for  the  rest  of  that  day  they  palisaded  them  stoutly, 
and  made  their  enclosure  so  secure  that  it  was  safe 
from  rabbits.  Of  deer,  so  near  the  tepees,  there  was 
no  danger. 

Carefully  did  the  Indian  girl  watch  the  sun,  morn 
ing,  noon,  and  night,  as  the  days  grew  shorter.  She 
had  driven  a  long  peg  into  a  cottonwood-tree,  as  high 
as  she  could,  and,  day  by  day,  on  the  ground,  she  made 
her  mark  at  noon,  when  the  shadow  was  the  shortest. 
At  last  she  summoned  her  brother.  "  See,  White- 
wings,  see!  The  mark  was  here  three  days  ago,  and, 
see,  now  the  shadow  is  here— so  much  shorter.  They 
will  come  soon.'1 

Every  morning  at  sunrise,  while  the  village  was  still 
at  its  laziest,  the  girl  had,  for  a  week  before  this, 
climbed  to  her  eyry  in  her  own  selected  bare  cotton 
wood-tree,  to  be  sure  that  no  one  escaped  her  eye  upon 
the  larger  lake.  It  was  near  a  mile's  walk  for  her 
every  day  through  the  prairie,  but  she  never  hesitated. 
Snow,  rain,  ice,  or  sunshine,  it  was  all  one  for  her. 

And  the  very  next  day  after  she  showed  to  White- 
wings  the  telltale  shadow  which  proved  that  the  days 
were  growing  longer,  she  was  rewarded  in  her  outlook. 


THE    FIRST    GRAIN    MARKET 

Far  to  the  north,  on  the  quiet  lake,  which  was  still  not 
frozen,  were  one,  two,  three  —  more  specks  than  she 
could  surely  count.  She  hardly  waited  to  count  them, 
indeed,  so  eager  was  she  to  .find  her  brother,  and  to 
bring  him  to  the  shore. 

It  was  not  an  hour  before  they  were  both  there. 
They  built  a  fire,  of  which  the  smoke  curled  above' 
them.  They  stood  out  on  the  bank,  hardly  high  enough 
to  be  called  a  bluff,  and,  with  tall  canes,  the  tallest  they 
could  cut,  waved  signals  of  welcome ;  signals  which 
were  readily  discerned  in  that  white,  flat  wilderness. 

Within  an  hour  or  two  more  the  strange  canoes  drew 
near,  in  two  lines.  The  strangers  also  waved  signals 
of  recognition,  and  the  leading  boat  ran  fearlessly  up 
to  the  shore.  Robert  Cavalier  de  La  Salle  landed,  and 
freely  took  the  offered  hand  of  White-wings,  the  boy, 
who  knew  already  that  such  was  the  white  man's  sig 
nal  of  welcome. 

For  Waketa,  she  had  been  recognized,  on  the  moment, 
by  a  tall,  well-built,  handsome  Indian  of  the  leading 
crew.  He  was  one  of  the  eighteen  Massachusetts 
Indians  whom  La  Salle  took,  with  their  squaws  and 
pappooses,  because  they  had  been  to  the  Mississippi 
before. 

The  girl  looked  gladly  up  in  the  face  of  the  tall 
stranger,  welcomed  his  expression  of  eager  joy,  looked 
up  again  and  smiled,  as  any  man  might  be  glad  to  have 
such  a  woman  smile  on  him. 

"Yes,  I  knew  you  would  come.  And  I  knew  you 
would  come  to-day. 

"  My  dream  said  that  when  the  sun  was  four  days 
towards  the  south  the  six  black  swans  would  come,  the 


390  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

six  white  herons  would  come,  the  six  deer  would  come. 
And  to-day  is  the  fourth  day,  and  you  are  here." 

"  And  where  is  the  token  ?"  asked  her  admirer,  proud 
of  the  eager  eyes  and  curious  gaze  of  those  who  looked 
on. 

The  girl  looked  down  a  minute,  and  hesitated. 
"  Which  was  best,  Waban  ?  Which  was  best  ? 

"He  has  the  token.  It  is  safe;  no  one  else  has  it. 
I  am  sure,"  she  said,  proudly,  "  you  do  not  fear  me. 

"Waban,  I  knew  that  you  were  coming.  I  knew 
you  would  not  come  alone.  I  knew  six  canoes  would 
come  with  you,  for  I  saw  six  swans,  six  herons,  and  six 
deer  in  my  dream. 

"  Waban,  we  are  ready  for  you.  Tell  the  black  chief 
that  we  are  ready."  And  she  pointed  to  Cavalier  de 
La  Salle. 

Then  White-wings  and  Waban,  in  a  mixture  of  the 
Winnebago  language  and  French  and  English,  ex 
plained  to  the  great  leader  that  the  village  was  but  a 
mile  back  behind  the  canebrake.  He  readily  accepted 
the  invitation  to  a  feast  which,  in  his  father's  name, 
White- wings  gave  him.  Taking  two  of  the  whites 
of  his  party,  Waban,  and  the  three  babies  and  their 
mothers,  La  Salle  followed  his  guides  to  the  encamp 
ment,  and,  with  his  own  civility,  received  the  hurried 
welcome  which  was  offered.  Stores  of  berries  and  rice 
and  corn  were  brought  out,  fifty  fish  were  placed  upon 
the  coals,  and  a  sudden  feast  of  welcome  was  impro 
vised. 

And  Waketa  took  her  lover,  and  led  him  to  her 
palisade,  and  showed  him  the  hard-packed  baskets  of 
rice  which  she  and  her  brother  had  made  ready. 


THE    FIRST    GRAIN    MARKET  391 

Waban,  delighted  with  her  foresight,  ran  back  and 
called  the  great  chief. 

It  was  hard  to  explain  to  La  Salle  that  this  welcome 
store  of  provision  was  thus  all  ready  for  his  winter 
passage  across  to  the  Mississippi. 

When,  in  three  languages,  the  story  of  her  dreams 
was  told  to  him,  he  held  his  hand  over  her,  and  blessed 
her  and  hers. 

"Dominus  tibi  benedicet,  filia  mea"  It  was  a  Christ 
mas  blessing. 

And  from  his  pouch  he  took  a  Portuguese  joe  of  gold, 
ten  pine-tree  shillings,  and  placed  them  in  the  hand  of 
the  girl,  compelling  her  to  take  them,  though  she  would 
gladly  have  shrunk  away. 

For  this  little  story  there  is,  alas!  no  written  au 
thority.  But  if  it  can  ever  be  authenticated,  here  is 
the  record  of  the  oldest  harvest,  and  that  of  the  first 
sale  on  the  Corn  Exchange  of  Chicago. 

And  thus  was  consecrated  that  Christmas  Day. 


PHARAOH'S   HARVEST 

"LAND  at  last!  Look  round,  Patience;  look  round, 
Jack,  and  see  how  you  like  your  new  home." 

The  young  man  spoke  to  a  boy  ten  years  old  and  a 
girl  of  twelve,  as  they  cautiously  climbed  a  rickety 
ladder  from  a  flat-boat  which  rose  and  fell  on  the 
waves.  The  two  children  stepped  on  a  rude  wooden 
wharf,  which  ran  out  over  the  rocks.  It  was  their 
older  brother  who  addressed  them.  He  then  left  them 
to  their  fate,  while,  with  a  sailor  in  the  boat,  he  lifted 
to  the  wharf  two  or  three  bags  of  grain,  on  which 
Patience  and  Jack  had  been  sitting. 

As  soon  as  the  first  of  these  was  on  the  wharf,  Pa 
tience  took  her  place  on  it,  while  Jack  rendered  such 
help  as  he  could  in  landing  the  others.  All  went  well 
enough  until,  by  a  slip,  the  last  bag  fell  heavily  on  the 
boards.  The  leather  cord,  which  was  tied  around  its 
mouth,  gave  way,  and  as  much  as  half  a  peck  of  grain 
rolled  out  upon  the  wharf. 

"  This  will  never  do — this  will  never  do.  We  must 
not  waste  good  English  wheat  in  this  fashion."  This 
was  the  warning  giving  by  a  sunburned  man  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  who  had  just  come  down  to  the  landing, 
and  who  revealed  himself  for  the  first  time. 

""We  will  waste  nothing,"  said  Martin  Coram,  the 
oldest  of  the  three.  "  But  a  land  of  plenty,  like  yours, 


PHARAOH'S  HARVEST  393 

will  not  grudge  a  few  handfuls  of  grain  to  the  sparrows 
—eh,  neighbor?" 

And  he  lifted  the  heavy  bag  upon  its  end,  opened 
the  mouth,  and  with  his  hands  began  scraping  up  the 
wheat  which  had  escaped.  Patience  and  Jack  helped. 
He  took  a  bit  of  stout  whip-cord  from  his  pocket,  and 
began  with  his  knife  to  make  holes,  through  which  he 
could  lace  it  into  the  buckram.  By  the  time  these 
were  made  and  the  cord  inserted,  the  children  had 
gathered  almost  all  which  fell,  and  he  drew  up  his  cord 
and  made  all  safe. 

The  landsmen  answered  him,  with  a  certain  surliness 
of  manner :  "  The  sparrows  have  enough,  but  we  do 
not  mean  to  teach  sparrows  or  hawks  the  taste  of 
English  grain."  And  he  turned  away.  As  he  did  so, 
the  girl,  Patience,  rose,  with  her  hands  full  of  wheat, 
which  she  had  been  gathering  from  a  corner  between 
two  bags.  But  she  was  too  late  for  her  brother.  She 
would  have  thrown  it  back  for  the  birds  but  for  the 
surly  words  of  the  stranger.  As  it  was,  she  put  it 
carefully  in  the  great  pocket  which  was  fastened  at  her 
waist.  And  on  the  future  of  those  two  handfuls  of 
wheat  is  built  our  little  story. 


The  family  of  Corams,  to  which  the  two  children 
and  their  brother  Martin  belonged,  were  of  the  Eng 
lish  emigration,  of  near  a  thousand  men,  women,  and 
children,  who  arrived  in  Massachusetts  Bay  in  June  of 
1030.  After  a  fortnight  of  varied  experience,  sleeping 


394  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

in  a  barn  to-night  and  under  canvas  to-morrow  night, 
riding  on  a  pillion  behind  one  brother,  or  steering  a  boat 
for  another,  Patience  found  herself,  with  her  father 
and  mother,  her  brothers  and  sisters,  and  especially 
with  the  precious  baby  of  the  party,  under  the  shelter 
of  a  tent  on  the  shore  of  Charles  River,  where,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  after,  stood  the  house  of  one 
of  her  descendants,  on  the  land  which  her  father  staked 
out  on  the  morning  of  that  day.  The  older  brothers 
and  sisters  were  at  work  here  and  there,  as  the  regimen 
of  a  well-disciplined  English  yeoman's  family  directed. 
And  to  Patience  was  left  the  oversight  of  the  three 
children  younger  than  herself.  It  was  not  hard  to  set 
Robert  and  Jotham  to  digging  holes  in  the  sand  beside 
the  river,  with  the  big  shells  they  had  found  there. 
The  baby  was  too  small  to  dig,  too  big  to  go  to  sleep, 
and  too  resolute  to  be  left  alone.  Patience  had  built 
houses  of  pebbles  on  the  chest  on  which  she  sat,  she 
had  extemporized  jackstraws  from  the  big  pine-nee 
dles  ;  but  one  sport  failed  after  another,  and,  at  last, 
with  unwearying  good  temper,  such  as  befitted  her 
name,  she  said,  "Well,  Tommy,  let  us  see  what  we 
have  in  our  pocket."  And  from  the  great  pocket  which 
hung  from  her  belt  appeared  a  spool  of  thread,  the 
comb  which  the  other  children  knew  only  too  well, 
three  or  four  nails  which  she  had  picked  up  in  one 
cruise  or  another,  two  or  three  little  kerchiefs  which 
were  tied  round  their  necks  in  one  and  another  crisis, 
and  at  last  a  good  handful  of  the  wheat  which  Patience 
had  placed  there  on  the  day  of  the  landing.  This 
served  her  purpose  best  of  all.  The  wheat  was  ranged 
in  armies,  it  was  pushed  to  and  fro,  it  was  dropped 


PHAKAOH'S  HARVEST  395 

through  holes,  to  be  recovered  by  the  baby's  fingers, 
till,  happily  and  suddenly,  the  child  developed  drowsi 
ness,  gave  way  to  one  skilful,  slow  rendering  of  the 
ballad  of  Robin  Hood,  and,  in  a  minute  more,  was  sleep 
ing  under  a  veil,  on  the  rough  bed  which  he  shared 
with  his  mother.  Patience  was  left  to  her  own  devices. 
She  hastily  pocketed  again  the  various  treasures  which 
had  been  the  baby's  playthings,  till  she  came  to  the 
armies  of  wheat-grains.  "  I  mean  to  plant  these,"  she 
said.  "  I  mean  to  have  some  bread  of  my  own.  Thee 
knows,  Martin,"  she  said,  gravely,  to  her  brother,  "  the 
Bible  says, '  some  an  hundredfold.'  "  And  she  rapidly 
counted  her  grains.  "  Here  are  forty  -three  grains.  A 
hundredfold  will  be  a  great  many." 

Martin  laughed  good-naturedly  at  her  confidence, 
and  said,  "  Thee  must  be  careful,  Pashe,  or  the  sun  will 
burn  them  or  the  weeds  choke  them.  The  sun  seems 
to  me  hotter  than  it  was  yon,  and  thee  sees  how  the 
weeds  grow.  And  who  knows,  dear  little  Pashe,  where 
next  spring  will  find  us  ?  '  Up  and  away,'  may  be  the 
order." 

'"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  girl,  good-naturedly. 
"  But  where  we  go,  I  will  take  my  farm.  See  here, 
Martin,  I  have  this  big  basket,  which  the  Indian  wom 
an  gave  me  for  a  little  bit  of  ribbon.  Thee  will  show 
me  the  good  ground,  I  will  fill  the  basket  with  good 
ground,  and  I  will  plant  my  seed  there.  Then,  if  Ave 
go  to  another  plantation,  we  will  carry  the  basket. 
See  how  strong  it  is." 

Martin  was  fond  of  the  child,  as  well  he  might  be, 
and  always  humored  her.  They  filled  the  basket  to 
gether,  and  then  he  bade  her  pick  out  the  very  largest 


396  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

and  plumpest  of  her  grains.  "Thee  does  not  want  a 
mean  harvest,  Pashe,"  he  said;  "good  grain  or  none, 
and  good  seed,  if  we  are  to  have  a  hundredfold."  So 
the  basket  was  filled  two-thirds  full  from  the  rich  soil 
left  in  some  overflow  of  Charles  Kiver.  Thirty  plump 
grains,  such  as  would  have  delighted  the  vizier  Joseph, 
were  planted  in  it,  the  basket  was  set  away  under  the 
slope  of  the  tent,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  forgotten 
by  everybody. 

A  cabin  was  built,  after  a  fashion,  partly  of  logs  and 
partly  of  planks,  which  had  been  diligently  sawed  out 
by  Jotham  and  Martin  and  Stedfast  and  their  father. 
Poor  Mrs.  Coram  began  to  feel  the  joys  of  a  stable 
home,  after  seven  months  of  ships  and  boats  and  tents 
and  bivouacs,  and  to  say,  between  tears  and  prayers, 
that  it  was  a  comfort  there  was  wood  enough  to  burn. 
But  alack  and  alas !  as  March  came  in,  as  the  ice  in 
the  river  melted,  as  the  children  brought  up  from  the 
river-bank  prince's-pine  and  bits  of  green  moss  which 
seemed  as  if  summer  might  come,  the  goodman  came 
in,  one  night,  quite  excited,  with  one  more  proposal  for 
removal. 

One  of  the  magistrates,  and  two  other  men  of  sub 
stance,  had  come  on  from  the  South  River,  as  they 
called  it,  to  ask  him  if  he  would  not  come  and  direct 
the  setting  up  of  their  mill  there,  as  he  had  so  well 
directed  this  at  Watertown.  There  was  a  modest  pride 
in  Coram's  face  as  he  told  this  to  the  family,  while  he 
knew  that  the  proposal  would  not  be  popular.  But 
the  end  of  all  was  that  it  was  agreed  that  he  ought  to 
go.  He  would  take  Martin  with  him  till  the  house 
could  be  ready  for  the  little  ones,  for  house  there  was 


397 

this  time,  or  the  beginning  of  one.  And  then,  "  by  the 
time  you  want  to  make  your  garden,  mother,"  Mar 
tin  should  come  back  with  their  own  horse  and  with 
another  horse  which  could  be  borrowed,  for  mother  to 
ride  upon  and  the  little  ones.  The  establishment  at 
Watertown  was  turned  over  to  Stedfast,  and  Stedfast 
should  marry  Hope  Garfield  a  little  earlier  than  had 
been  expected.  By  such  bribery  was  Stedfast's  vote 
secured  for  the  scheme.  And,  of  course,  Good  wife 
Coram  consented,  as  she  had  consented  to  so  many 
schemes  before. 

"  And  thee  will  have  a  good  patch  of  wheat  here," 
said  the  father  to  his  son,  as  he  left  in  the  gray  of  the 
morning,  and  looked  around,  with  a  certain  regret,  on 
the  improvements  of  the  hard  work  of  last  October 
and  November. 

Patience  heard  the  words.  Childlike,  she  said  noth 
ing.  But,  so  soon  as  her  brother  and  father  left,  she 
ran  back  into  the  old  tent,  which  had  stood  all  winter 
long  as  a  storehouse,  rummaged  under  the  ropes,  and 
dragged  out  the  Indian  woman's  forgotten  basket.  She 
set  it  in  a  sheltered  place,  fenced  it  carefully  from 
chickens,  and,  with  a  gourd  of  her  own,  watered  it 
everv  day  when  she  did  not  forget  it.  When,  upon 
May-day  itself,  she  lifted  her  little  sister  on  the  pillion 
behind  Martin,  for  the  emigration  to  the  South  Eiver, 
she  gave  to  her  care  the  heavy  basket.  "  If  thee  will 
take  it,  Polly,  all  the  way,  I  will  walk  all  the  way. 
Thee  need  riot  give  me  thy  place  at  all."  And  Polly 
gladly  fulfilled  her  share  of  the  contract. 


398 


II 

And  it  proved,  as  it  will  prove  in  the  world,  that  the 
party  who  went  on  foot  had  quite  as  easy  a  journey 
as  those  who  went  on  horses.  First  of  all,  they  had 
some  miles  in  a  great  birch  canoe,  which  a  friendly 
Indian  squaw  on  the  river  had  lent  Good  wife  Coram. 
When  it  came  to  the  carries,  the  children  did  their 
part  with  the  best.  There  were  two  more  than  when 
they  landed  at  Salem.  For  the  gentle  Madam  Skeats 
had  died  before  Christmas,  and  that  quiet  gentleman, 
her  husband,  had  coughed  his  life  away  before  two 
months  more.  Here  were  the  two  orphans,  Lawrence 
and  Mildred,  whom  Goodwife  Coram  had  taken  into 
her  shelter  and  into  her  heart,  of  course.  With  her 
eight  children,  these  two  made  the  journey  to  Ded- 
ham. 

The  new  home  was  further  advanced  in  the  begin 
ning  than  the  old  one  had  been  when  they  left  it. 
The  men  of  mark  who  wanted  Coram's  help  had  known 
enough  to  know  that  he  would  be  likely  to  stay  if  they 
made  things  attractive  to  his  family.  Two  or  three 
acres  of  meadow  had  been  ploughed,  a  log-cabin  built, 
and  thatched  with  marsh  hay  and  reeds,  and,  as  the 
day  of  arrival  chose  to  be  one  of  the  days  in  a  New 
England  May  when  the  wind  blows  from  the  south 
west,  where  the  Indian's  heaven  lies,  everything  seemed 
cheerful  and  hopeful. 

Coram' s  two  horses  were  by  far  the  most  valuable 
part  of  his  wealth.  At  once  he  made  for  himself  a 
rouo-h  harrow,  and,  under  the  moonlight,  with  the 


PHARAOH'S  HARVEST 

boys'  help,  broke  up  the  newly  ploughed  land.     He 
would   try  oats,  he  would  try  barley,  he  would  try 
wheat.     As  for  the  new  corn,  which  the  Indian  boys 
showed  him,  he  was  incredulous.     They  might  plant 
that ;  good  old  English  wheat  was  good  enough  for 
him.     Patience  said  nothing  while  these  larger  labors 
went  on.    But  the  next  day  she  chose  her  own  garden- 
spot  behind  the  house.     She  found  a  pick  and  a  spade- 
both  far  too  heavy  for  her,  but  a  fortunate  rush  of 
water  in  the  spring  had  broken  up  the  surface  so  that 
it  was  not  sodded  beyond  her  strength.     In   one  in 
terval  and  another,  between  baby-tending  and  plate- 
washing,  and  other  cares  invented  or  suggested  by  her 
mother,  she  made  herself  a  bed  big  enough  for  all  the 
seeds  she  had  and  more.    She  planted  apple-seeds  which 
her  grandmother  had  given  her  in  Kent.     She  planted 
scarlet-beans  which  she  had  saved  a  year  ago  in  the 
old  cottage  in  England.     And,  with  most  care  of  all, 
she  broke  into  a  dozen  bits  the  hard  block  of  soil  which 
had  caked  together  in  the  Indian  basket,  and  set  them 
in  her  new  garden,  as  she  might  have  done  as  many 
precious  tulips,  had  she  ever  heard  of  such  wonders. 

Fortune  favors  the  brave.  And  is  there  not  indeed 
a  divinity  among  the  powers  set  to  rule  this  world  who 
has  a  special  love  for  children  and  their  enterprises? 
Who  shall  say?  But  it  seemed  so.  Before  June  was 
over  Goodman  Coram  had  reason  to  wish  that  he  had 
listened  more  carefully  to  the  Indian  boys.  They  had 
warned  him  that  the  meadow  where  he  planted,  which 
seemed  wholly  out  of  reach  of  the  stream,  was,  in  ex 
ceptional  years,  flooded  when  a  freshet  came.  They 
even  showed  him  logs  which  had  been  floated  there ; 


400  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

but  they  had  to  confess  that  these  had  been  there  ever 
since  they  remembered.  Coram  had  said,  in  his  easy 
way,  that  if  the  freshets  had  held  off  for  ten  years, 
they  would  hold  off  a  year  longer.  Anyway,  he  must 
build  the  town  mill  and  tend  it;  he  could  not  be  fell 
ing  timber  for  his  fields  and  crops,  as  the  others  were. 

And  so  poor  Coram  had  the  dismay,  when  he  woke 
one  morning  in  the  middle  of  June,  of  seeing  that  the 
rain  of  the  last  week  had  started  up  in  the  hills  sources 
and  streams  such  as  he  had  never  dreamed  of  in  Eng 
land.  At  night  he  had  simply  taken  comfort  that  the 
roof  was  so  well  thatched  and  the  house  so  dry.  But 
in  the  morning  here  was  the  stream  within  a  foot  of 
his  little  field,  so  carefully  planted  not  four  weeks 
since.  He  looked  wistfully  on  the  field,  sorrowfully 
on  the  river.  "  No  good  craving  for  spilled  milk,"  he 
said,  as  he  led  Patience  and  her  mother  back  to  break 
fast.  "  Lucky  that  I  am  a  better  millwright  than  I 
am  farmer."  Lucky,  indeed,  for  before  an  hour  had 
gone  by  some  new  rush  of  water  came  down,  as  some 
beaver-dam  gave  way  above,  and  all  the  little  field  was 
under  a  torrent  which  even  floated  the  logs  which  had 
lodged  in  it  in  the  freshet  of  old  days. 

And  so  it  happened  that,  in  Patience's  little  patch 
behind  the  house,  there  ripened  all  the  wheat  which 
the  Coram  family  made  in  their  second  summer  in  the 
bay.  The  seed,  because  it  had  been  chosen  of  the  best, 
and  because  it  was  diligently  watered  with  the  slops 
which  Patience  carried  from  her  mother's  kitchen, 
throve  marvellously.  Goodman  Coram  and  Martin 
would  praise  Patience's  farming  almost  every  day. 
"  Thee  will  not  have  thy  hundredfold,  Pashe,"  Martin 


PHARAOH  S    HARVEST  401 

would  say,  good-naturedly  ;  "  I  do  not  know  what  the 
man  sowed  who  got  that,  but  not  such  wheat  as  we 
sow.  But  thee  will  have  a  good  twentyfold,  and, 
maybe,  thirtyfold.  And  that  is  enough  for  a  begin 
ning  in  farming." 

"  The  good  Lord  did  not  say  that  all  bore  a  hundred 
fold,  even  then  and  there,"  said  the  girl's  mother,  laugh 
ing,  "  Some  had  a  hundred  and  some  thirty.  And  I 
believe  he  loved  one  as.  much  as  the  other." 

When  Martin  told  her  the  time  had  come,  Patience 
cut  her  tall  wheat  with  her  own  scissors.  Her  mother 
kept  the  thirty  tall  stalks  of  straw,  and  laid  them  by 
under  the  eaves  for  the  time  when  Patience  should 
learn  to  braid  them.  And  Patience  with  her  own  fin 
gers,  in  the  autumn  twilight,  picked  all  the  big  grains 
from  the  husks.  Martin  himself  marvelled  that  they 
were  so  large,  and  his  good-natured  father  praised  Pa 
tience  that  she  picked  her  seed  so  well.  So,  as  she 
picked,  the  girl  made  two  piles,  one  for  uthe  best,  the 
very,  very  best,"  and  another  for  what  her  father  told 
her  to  mark  as  second  grade.  She  counted  the  full 
grains  which  she  called  the  "  Pharaoh  wheat,"  and  she 
had  five  hundred  and  seventy  kernels.  She  made  for 
herself  a  little  bag  from  a  dish-clout,  and  sewed  the 
ends  together,  and  hid  it  away  with  her  treasures. 


Ill 

So,  when  October  came,  and  the  mill  was  running 
briskly,  if  only  there  had  been  grain  enough  for  it  to 
grind,  Patience  called  Martin  one  afternoon  and  asked 

26 


402  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

him  how  she  was  to  plant  "Pharaoh."  "'Lean  kine' 
I  will  not  plant  at  all,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  It  shall 
not  be  said  of  me  that  I  started  poor  crops  in  this 
brave,  new  world,  which  hath  such  wonders  in  it." 
The  scrap  of  Shakespeare  had  stolen  to  her  ears  from 
a  sailor  on  the  ship.  Neither  she  nor  her  brother 
guessed  where  the  sailor  heard  it,  and  still  less  that  she 
had  misquoted  it.  Martin  always  petted  her,  and 
would  have  done  much  more  for  her  than  make  a 
garden-bed.  He  went  out  at  once,  surveyed  her  present 
possessions,  and  saw  at  a  glance  how  they  could  be 
enlarged.  "I  must  bring  thee  some  of  the  posies  from 
the  woods,"  he  said,  "  if  there  is  ever  a  time  when  the 
sun  will  not  burn  them  before  we  can  move  them. 
Thy  beans  do  thee  credit,  like  thy  wheat,  my  darling, 
and  thee  is  the  best  farmer  of  us  all."  So  he  brought 
his  spade  and  his  pick,  he  drove  in  pickets  strong 
enough  to  keep  off  any  wandering  pig,  he  warned  her 
that  her  worst  enemies  were  the  fowls  she  loved  so 
well,  and  then  made  her  a  bed  big  enough  for  her 
heart's  most  earnest  desire.  He  dammed  off  the  strag 
gling  water  which  came  down  from  the  wood  above. 
There  was  space  for  the  posies  which  were  to  come 
from  the  swamp,  there  was  a  large  corner  where  she 
was  to  plant  in  the  spring  the  Indian-corn  which  the 
old  squaw  had  given  her,  there  were  a  dozen  poles  for 
her  beans,  which  were  to  be  glorious  in  another  sum 
mer,  there  were  long  beds  for  her  peas,  and,  in  the 
midst  of  all,  well  away  from  the  rush  of  water  from 
the  thatched  roof,  was  a  space  especially  raked  and 
sifted,  where  Pharaoh  was  to  have  his  five  hundred 
and  seventy-two  full  stalks  of  grain,  "  Thee  shall  have 


PHARAOH'S  HARVEST  403 

a  stalk  for  each  day  of  the  year,  little  one,  and  two 
hundred  and  seven  stalks  more.  With  such  good  luck 
as  thee  has  had,  we  will  have  thirty-fold  this  time." 
And  with  her  own  hand  Patience  planted  Pharaoh  as 
he  bade  her.  She  had  a  bit  of  worn-out  net  which  one 
of  the  fishermen  gave  her,  and  she  pinned  this  care 
fully  over  Pharaoh's  bed  and  the  parts  around  it.  She 
drove  off  cocks  and  hens  with  unflinching  perseverance, 
and  even  taught  the  little  spaniel  who  had  followed  all 
their  wanderings,  that  he  must  not  leap  inside  that  en 
closure.  Little  had  the  girl  to  call  her  away  from 
home,  and  her  watchfulness,  therefore,  was  easy,  until 
the  snow  fell  and  protected  all.  If  she  had  known  it, 
it  enriched  all ;  "  snow  is  the  poor  man's  manure." 

With  that  fall's  success  in  the  mill,  and  with  work 
which  knew  no  such  petty  limits  as  twelve  hours,  or 
even  thirteen,  Coram  and  Martin  cleared  a  farm  where 
no  freshets  would  sweep  away  their  planting.  Between 
the  stumps  they  compelled  the  horses  to  drag  their 
light  plough.  And,  in  a  fashion,  they  got  in  their  oats 
and  their  barley,  and  their  wheat.  By  this  time,  also, 
Coram  was  willing  to  plant  as  much  of  the  Indian's 
corn  as  he  planted  of  all  the  rest.  "  But  this  we  will 
make  ready  for  in  winter,"  he  said.  "We  will  keep 
ourselves  warm  by  felling  the  great  pines  yon,  and  by 
burning  them  when  they  are  felled." 

And  all  was  as  he  said. 

His  wheat  harvest  made  but  a  poor  show  compared 
with  what  he  would  have  seen  in  Kent.  His  barley 
was  poorer  yet.  But  the  oats  were  full  and  strong. 
"But  nobody  has  such  wheat  in  this  land,"  said  he, 
after  their  little  Harvest  Home,  "as  the  lasses  do. 


404  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

How  big  is  thy  farm,  Patience,  and  are  there  three 
yards  of  it,  or  six?  I  only  know  that  I  must  buy  all 
thy  crop  for  planting  another  year,  even  if  thee  weighs 
it  against  sixpences.  'Brave  new  land,'  is  that  what 
thee  calls  it?  It  is  a  land  where  the  lasses  have  better 
farms  than  their  own  daddies  have." 

And  little  Patience,  who  was  not  so  little  now, 
blushed  crimson,  and  flung  her  arms  around  him  with 
out  saying  a  word,  and  kissed  him. 


IV 

Perhaps  the  origin  of  the  "Pharaoh  grains"  has 
been  told  in  too  much  detail.  But  it  seemed  worth 
while  for  younger  readers,  at  least,  who  eat  their  daily 
bread  as  if  it  came  to  them  of  course,  without  any 
body's  special  effort  or  care,  to  be  carried  back  to  some 
of  the  chances  and  difficulties  of  a  beginning.  The 
story  need  not  be  told  with  the  same  mcety  for  a 
year  or  two  more.  For  enough  has  been  told  to  show 
why  and  how  it  happened  that  the  little  girl's  handful 
came  to  be  planted  separately,  and  why,  from  year  to 
year,  the  product  was  kept  separately.  It  was  no  tri 
fling  task,  after  her  third  harvest,  to  lay  out  in  suc 
cession,  on  the  large  kitchen  table,  one  and  another 
measure  of  the  great  yellow  grains,  and  to  put  upon 
the  floor,  in  the  old  Indian  basket,  those  which  were  a 
little  shrivelled,  or  for  any  reason  not  so  full  as  the 
others.  A  dozen,  perhaps,  had  been  pierced  by  a  mis 
erable  little  worm,  hardly  bigger  round  than  a  large 
pin,  who  had  worked  his  way  out  of  them.  Patience 


405 

buried  these  behind  the  coals  in  the  smouldering  ashes 
of  the  fireplace.  Her  beloved  grains  were  far  beyond 
her  counting  now.  And  while  she  kept  her  first  bag, 
with  a  certain  superstitious  love  or  respect,  she  had  to 
make  a  much  larger  bag  to  hold  the  increase  of  her 
harvest.  Thirty  times  fifty  is  fifteen  hundred,  and  in 
another  year  thirty  times  fifteen  hundred  made  forty- 
five  thousand  grains.  Patience,  who  is  no  longer  little 
Patience,  but  tall  Patience,  and,  be  it  added  in  a  whis 
per,  pretty  Patience,  did  not  even  make  this  calculation. 
But  she  did  weigh  her  bao-s,  and  laid  them  in  the  cor- 

O  O     ' 

ner  of  the  great  meal-chest,  of  which  she  was  now  the 
mistress.  And  thus  she  knew  that  Pharaoh  had  kept 
up  to  his  old  standard.  Not  a  grain  of  all  that  was 
thus  chosen  was  ever  made  into  meal.  No,  it  was 
saved  for  autumn  sowing.  And  all  Patience's  origi 
nal  garden,  and  more,  well  manured  by  Martin's  loving 
care,  was  needed  for  Pharaoh's  tyrannical  requisitions. 
But  two  years  was  a  long  time  for  Goodman  Coram 
to  remain  in  one  home.  He  was  one  of  those  who 
''hunger  for  the  horizon."  And  so  soon  as  men  began 
to  suspect  that  the  sandy  gravel  of  the  bay  shores  was 
not  even  equal  to  old  Kent  for  farming  land,  so  soon 
also  there  began  to  be  great  rumors  of  "The  Great 
River  of  the  West,"  as  watering  meadows  to  which  the 
little  freshet-washed  fields  of  the  Neponset  were  as  a 
handkerchief  pinned  on  the  mainsail  of  a  man-of-war. 
This  was  not  the  great  river  of  which  we  know  the 
name  as  Meschachipi,  or  Mississippi.  It  was  a  river 
which  the  Minneapolis  and  St.  Paul  people  would  think 
a  very  little  river,  but  which  was  big  to  an  Indian  of 
the  bay,  and  which  from  its  meadows  fed  young  New 


406  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

England  as  the  Mississippi  valley  feeds  the  New  Eng 
land  of  to-day.  Coram  had  not  been  at  the  Dedham 
home  for  two  years  before  he  was  sent  for  to  New 
Plymouth  for  some  advice  as  to  their  mill-gear.  There 
he  met  some  of  the  traders  to  the  "great  river"  and 
came  home  full  of  enthusiasm  with  what  they  told  him. 
There  was  to  be  the  place  for  a  miller;  there  was  to 
be  the  region  from  which  the  country  was  to  be  fed. 

Here  it  proved  he  was  right,  and,  accordingly,  he 
led  his  vagrant  family  there  when  they  had  lived  little 
more  than  three  years  in  their  home  on  the  Neponset 
river.  But  this  was  a  long  time  for  an  adventurer  like 
Goodman  Corain. 

And,  once  more,  the  family  was  divided.  This  time 
Patience  and  Lawrence  and  Mildred  and  Martin  were 
of  the  party  which  went  across  the  land,  while  the  lit 
tle  children,  with  the  mill-gear,  and  their  mother  and 
the  various  stores,  went  in  a  trading  vessel,  out  through 
the  bay,  around  by  the  perilous  passage  of  Cape  Cod 
and  Nantucket,  anchored  once  and  again  in  the  Vine 
yard  Sound  and  in  Long  Island  Sound,  and  then,  by 
favorable  winds,  pushed  forward  for  a  fortnight  to  the 
great  river.  This  time  the  inarching  party  came  in 
ahead  of  the  sailing  party,  and  this  time  Martin  and 
the  boys,  who  could  swing  an  axe  with  the  best  of  the 
men  now,  had  made  a  good  beginning  for  their  father 
and  mother,  in  cutting  the  logs  ready  for  lifting,  so 
that  the  cabin  was  soon  built  and  there  was  but  little 
tent-life  for  the  women  before  they  were  fairly  estab 
lished.  That  valley  was  as  beautiful  as  it  is  now,  and 
Good  wife  Corain  hoped  that  this  time  they  had  come 
to  the  home  where  they  were  to  remain.  Surely  her 


407 

good  man  would  hear  of  nothing  that  was  better  than 
this.  Here  was  to  be  the  home  which  she  had  prom 
ised  herself  so  long. 

Of  all  such  emigration,  the  temptation  is  to  the  new 
settler  to  come  somewhere  where  he  may  plough  at 
once,  without  that  irksome  or  tiresome  business  of  cut 
ting  down  the  timber,  burning  it,  and  so  creating  a  farm. 
On  the  other  side,  as  poor  Coram  found  to  his  cost,  in 
the  little  Mattapan  valley  a  meadow  was  a  place  not 
to  be  trusted  too  fully,  even  if  one  go  up  on  the  second 
terrace.  Here,  in  their  new  Eden,  they  had  the  ex 
ample  of  the  squaws,  who  were  the  Indian  farmers,  and 
were  able  to  profit  by  some  of  their  rough  hydraulic 
enginery.  That  is  to  say,  their  custom  was  to  take  a 
good  bit  of  land  on  an  upper  terrace,  and  to  fortify 
themselves  by  a  low  log  rampart,  which  would  not,  in 
deed,  bear  the  pressure  of  a  heavy  freshet,  but  which 
would  be  able  to  keep  an  accidental  flood  from  the 
highest  water  levels  from  ravaging  the  field.  Even 
before  the  cabin  was  well  covered  in,  Coram  and  his 
boys,  who  were  as  good  to  him  as  men,  felled  one  and 
another  tree,  so  that  it  should  answer  such  a  purpose 
of  protection  for  a  few  acres,  resolved  not  to  be  caught 
again  as  they  had  been  caught  before.  Nor  were  they. 
The  cabin  itself  stood  on  ground  somewhat  higher  than 
this  terrace.  For  it  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  that 
beautiful  river,  pointing  back,  I  suppose,  to  bits  of  its 
geological  history,  that,  as  one  lake  after  another  gave 
way  in  the  formation  of  New  England,  different  ter 
races  rose  from  the  river,  and  you  may  take  your 
choice  at  what  height  you  will  live  above  the  stream. 
This  time  the  father  sowed  his  wheat  in  his  field,  and 


408  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

Lawrence  and  Martin  sowed  "  Pharaoh  "  in  what  they 
knew  as  "the  upper  garden."  Pharaoh  had  become  an 
important  element  in  the  family  life,  and  it  was  under 
stood  that  Patience  Avould  not  like  to  have  her  crop 
mixed  in  with  the  more  vulgar  crop  of  the  larger  field. 
It  was  no  longer  a  crop  to  be  watered  with  the  suds 
of  the  wash-tubs.  It  had  to  take  the  chances,  with  the 
most  democratic  wheat,  of  the  rain  and  the  dew.  But 
when  spring  came,  Patience  was  delighted  to  see  how 
firmly  the  stalks  came  up  and  how  bravely  they  grew 
under  those  hot  suns  and  under  those  healthy  spring 
showers.  Her  father  was  as  proud  of  her  harvest  as 
he  was  of  his  own,  and  was  willing  to  confess  once  and 
again  that  she  had  the  best  show  of  them  all.  It  was 
really  quite  a  large  patch  which  grew  from  the  careful 
sowing  of  Lawrence  and  Martin,  and  when  a  hot  July 
crowned  the  work  of  the  showers  of  May  and  June, 
Goodman  Coram  himself  confessed  that  never  in  his 
best  English  experience  had  he  seen  better  grain. 


It  was  half-past  three  of  a  July  morning.  The  east 
ern  sky  was  all  a  sea  of  pale  pearly  light ;  in  the  lower 
edge  of  it  just  the  first  suspicion  of  yellow.  From  his 
tent,  half  hidden  under  some  low  patch  pines,  came 
Lawrence  Skeats,  now  a  tall,  handsome  young  fellow, 
more  than  six  feet  high,  with  a  paddle  on  his  left  shoul 
der  and  an  axe  in  his  right  hand.  He  was  browned 
with  the  sun,  but  the  English  glow  still  shone  in  his 
cheeks,  and  such  a  mass  of  curly  auburn  hair  blazed 


PHARAOH'S  HARVEST  409 

round  his  head  as  never  glorified  Apollo.  He  sat  on 
the  rail-fence,  with  his  axe  and  with  his  paddle  at  his 
side,  watching  the  door  of  the  log-cabin,  over  which 
climbed  scarlet-beans  and  ground-nut  and  Virginia- 
creeper.  The  young  fellow's  thoughts  were  carried 
back  to  his  father's  cottage  at  Hampshire,  in  the  old 
home.  He  sat  whistling  at  first,  and  then  humming 
the  song  which  he  had  heard  his  father  sing  in  those 
days: 

"  Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  dial  iced  flowers  that  lies  ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes, 
With  everything  that  pretty  bin  ; — 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  !" 

He  looked  round  at  the  last  words,  but  on  the  high 
ridge  there  was  no  Phoebus  yet,  only  the  long  golden 
streak  which  made  it  sure  that  Phoebus  was  coming. 

Patience  had  promised  her  lover  that  she  would  be 
up  before  sunrise,  and  go  with  him  to  the  little  bay  on, 
almost  a  pond,  from  which  he  had  brought  her  her 
pond-lilies,  so  that  she  might  see  the  pretty  daily  mira 
cle  of  their  opening.  She  was,  let  us  hope,  not  quite 
so  impatient  as  he  was  for  the  appointment — at  least, 
it  would  not  have  been  like  her  to  say  so.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  she  was  not  too  late,  and,  by  the  time  the 
boy  sang  of  the  "  winking  Mary-buds,"  the  girl  pushed 
open  the  door  and  came  smiling  towards  him,  offering 
him  her  hand,  and  then  insisting  on  carrying  the  pad 
dle.  A  little  walk— not  half  a  mile — in  which  they 
brushed  the  dew  from  the  grass  in  the  narrow  path, 


410  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHERS 

and  then  the  birch-canoe  which  Lawrence  himself  and 
some  friendly  squaws  had  built  the  autumn  before, 
clean  within  as  Patience's  kneading-table,  with  a  pret 
tily  dressed  tasselled  deer-skin  for  her  to  sit  on,  and  a 
bunch  of  wild  roses  on  one  side,  and  of  white  azalea 
on  the  other. 

"  How  sweet  they  are,  Lawrence,  and  how  nice  in 
thee  to  have  them  ready  !" 

The  proud  lad  only  blushed,  intimated  that  they 
were  not  half  sweet  enough  for  her,  stepped  into  the 
boat  and  pushed  off,  and  in  a  minute  they  were  in  the 
middle  of  the  little  lake. 

What  loving  things  he  said  to  her,  or  Avhat  kind 
answers  she  made  to  him,  who  shall  tell  after  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ?  Guess  if  you  can,  Maud  and 
Maurice,  but  they  are  not  here  written  down.  The 
balance  of  the  boat  does  not  permit  him  to  put  his  arm 
around  her,  even  if  she  would  have  permitted,  and  he 
cannot  press  his  lips  upon  her  cheek,  as  sometimes  he 
had  done.  But  there  were  only  five  or  six  jealous  cu 
bits  between  them,  and  he  could  see  the  play  of  the 
blood  as  it  went  and  came  in  her  cheeks,  and  hear  what 
she  said,  though  it  were  only  in  a  whisper.  And  he 
could  sit  and  wonder  how  the  good  God  himself  could 
make  anything  so  beautiful  as  she.  And  the  girl,  hard 
ly  conscious  of  the  intensity  of  his  admiration,  was 
happy  because  he  was  happy,  was  happy  because  the 
lake  and  the  trees  were  so  beautiful,  and  the  reflection 
of  the  trees  in  the  still  water.  Was  the  morning  dawn 
always  as  exquisite  as  this?  If  it  were,  why,  it  was 
wicked  in  them  that  they  did  not  come  out  to  see  it 
every  day  !  Something  like  this  they  said.  But  neither 


PHARAOH  S    HARVEST  411 

of  them  said  much.  Both  of  them  were  the  good 
God's  children,  and  had  been  so  trained  that  they  were 
not  afraid  of  Him.  Each  of  them  would  have  liked 
to  say  just  the  words  which  John  Milton  —  perhaps 
that  very  morning — was  thinking  of  putting  into  the 
mouth  of  Eve  : 

"  These  are  thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  Good." 

But,  of  a  sudden,  the  miracle  was  perfected  for  which 
they  had  come.  It  was  the  girl  who  saw  it  first. 
"  There  is  one!"  she  cried,  as  a  great  white  lily  opened 
itself  to  the  sun.  "  Surely,  it  was  not  there  before  !" 

No,,  pretty  Patience,  or  it  was  only,  a  bud  before. 
And  lily  buds  open  to  the  sun  as  quickly  as  girls  change 
into  women. 

Lawrence  looked  over  his  shoulder  to  see  the  "  chal- 
iced  flower"  floating  on  the  lake,  and  skilfully  drew 
the  boat  to  it,  so  that  Patience  might  take  it  for  her 
prize.  In  the  minute  in  which  she  did  so,  half  a  dozen 
more  had  opened,  and,  as  she  looked  up  she  saw  them. 
"  There — oh !  and  there !  There  Lawrence,  look  there ! 
Oh,  they  are  everywhere?" 

Yes,  that  is  the  beauty  of  morning  on  such  a  lake, 
where  there  are  so  many  of  these  maiden-queens  wait 
ing  to  meet  the  sun -god.  And  Lawrence,  delighted 
that  she  so  enjoyed  the  new  pleasure  which  he  had 
prepared  for  her,  skilfully  pushed  the  boat  from  one  to 
another  as  she  pointed.  At  last,  indeed,  there  needed 
no  pointing  or  exclamation.  The  surface,  just  now 
brown,  or  blue,  or  green,  as  it  reflected  shadow,  or  sky, 
or  tree,  was  everywhere  flecked  with  the  pure  white  of 


412  SUSAN'S    ESCORT,   AND    OTHERS 

the  lilies,  as  they  waited,  hoping  that  the  girl  would 
need  them. 

The  space  between  them  in  the  canoe  was  filled  with 
the  mass  of  them  which  she  had  collected,  when  Law 
rence  for  the  first  time  looked  northward  in  the  sky. 
In  an  instant  his  face  changed. 

O 

"  Patience,  stand  up  —  look  yon  !  What  is  that— 
smoke  ?" 

"  Smoke  indeed,"  cried  she,  in  dismay,  like  his  own. 
"  Not  near  the  house,  thank  God  !" 

And  already  he  was  driving  the  boat  to  the  landing. 
Three  minutes  and  they  are  there ;  two  more,  with  no 
thought  of  their  cargo  now,  nor  of  axe  or  paddle,  they 
are  running  up  the  sloping  bank.  The  smoke,  and 
even  tongues  of  fire,  were  only  too  visible,  just  beyond 
the  northeast  point,  where  the  mountain  had  turned 
the  course  of  the  river. 

"  I  will  run  to  the  house  and  warn  them,"  cried  he. 
"  Do  thou  go  right  to  the  tent  and  wake  Martin,"  and, 
as  he  spoke,  he  threw  back  to  her  his  whittle.  "Cut 
all  the  cords,  bid  Martin  roll  up  the  canvas,  and  we 
will  come  for  it."  The  girl  caught  the  knife,  and  ran, 
like  Diana  herself,  to  call  her  sleeping  brother. 

Yes,  and  neither  of  them  bad  a  minute  too  much  for 
what  they  had  to  do.  Lawrence  thundered  at  the  cabin 
door.  His  cry  waked  all  who  were  there,  and  some 
sort  of  clothing  was  wrapped  round  the  little  ones. 
Goodman  Coram  himself  was  away,  caring  for  the 
Windsor  Mills.  But  the  two  boys  who  slept  there 
were  made  to  put  on  shoes  and  breeches.  Mrs.  Coram, 
with  the  girls,  carried  to  the  safe  covert  of  the  trees 
such  things  of  worth  as  women  could  handle.  The 


PHARAOH'S    HARVEST  413 

new  baby,  most  precious  of  all,  and  the  other  little 
ones  were  left  there,  under  the  care  of  the  wondering 
Robert.  And  in  a  few  minutes  more — in  time,  thank 
God ! — 'Martin  and  Lawrence  and  the  rest  appeared, 
stumbling  through  the  thicket,  with  the  great  roll  of 
the  tent-cover.  Two  of  the  young  fellows  climbed 
upon  the  roof  of  the  cabin.  There  was  time  still  to  do 
their  work  well,  though  they  could  see  that  the  fire 
had  turned  the  point,  and  could  plainly  hear  its  roar 
as  it  rushed  through  the  tall  grasses  of  the  meadow, 
on  which  no  rain  had  fallen  for  a  fortnight.  Before  a 
single  burning  leaf  or  straw  fell  upon  it,  the  dangerous 
thatch  was  covered  with  the  canvas,  and  Martin  at  his 
post,  Lawrence  at  his,  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  roof, 
were  throwing  water  over  the  sheet,  as  the  hard-work 
ing  women  supplied  it  in  buckets  from  below.  The  air 
grew  hotter  and  hotter,  but  the  women  and  the  men 
were  wet  from  top  to  toe,  and  hardly  felt  or  knew 
whether  they  were  hot  or  cold.  Within  thirty  yards 
of  them  there  was  nothing  to  feed  the  fire.  A  little 
line  of  maples,  which  had  been  spared  in  chopping, 
from  some  Indian's  talk  of  their  sugar,  parted  the 
homestead  lot  from  the  broken  field.  And,  after  a 
terrible  hour,  they  knew  that  the  fire  storm  had  passed 
them  and  was  speeding  its  way  down  the  valley.  Men 
and  women,  boys  and  girls,  their  faces  were  black  with 
smoke  and  with  the  crock  of  cinders. 

The  house  was  saved !  But  the  harvest  on  the  mead 
ows  was  gone ! 

Jotham  and  Robert  were  sent  down  in  Lawrence's 
canoe  to  call  back  poor  Coram  to  the  scene  of  desola 
tion,  and  on  the  night  of  the  third  day  after  the  fire 


414  SUSAN'S  ESCORT,  AND  OTHEES 

he  was  with  his  wife  and  children.  Such  men — hope 
ful  and  eager  to  make  a  change  when  none  is  necessary 
—are  always  the  more  depressed  when  misfortune  falls 
upon  them  which  they  have  not  expected.  And  now 
it  was  Goodwife  Coram  who  was  encouraging  her  hus 
band,  and  Patience  who  was  trying  to  make  him  un 
derstand  that  things  were  really  not  as  bad  as  they 
were  on  the  night  when  they  gathered  so  hopefully  at 
Watertown,  glad  that  the  voyage  was  well  over. 

"  For  now,  dear  father,"  said  the  girl,  "  we  have  a 
house  over  our  heads,  we  have  enough  to  eat  and  to 
drink,  we  have  a  field  all  broken  up  and  ready  to 
plant  again,  and  we  have  neighbors  and  friends  within 
five  miles,  to  whom  we  can  go  to  borrow  salt  or 
sugar." 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do,"  said  poor  Coram,  gloomily, 
"  between  this  time  and  next  summer,  when  the  crops 
will  be  ripe,  Patience,  if  so  be  another  fire  does  not 
sweep  down  the  valley  and  finish  them  again  ?" 

But  here  the  good  wife  put  in  a  word.  She  re 
minded  him  that  there  would  be  as  many  shad  and 
salmon  in  the  river  as  there  had  been  in  the  spring, 
that  there  would  be  as  many  pigeons  and  turkeys  in 
the  sky  as  there  had  been  for  a  thousand  years,  that 
they  had  in  the  out-house,  which  had  been  preserved 
so  skilfully  by  the  boys,  the  tubs  of  salt  fish  which  they 
had  all  worked  together  to  lay  down  in  April.  "  Thou 
shalt  not  say  that  we  are  going  to  starve  in  a  land 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey.  What  was  it,  Nathan, 
that  thee  told  me  of  this  Tartar  wheat  which  people 
plant  in  July  and  harvest  in  the  early  autumn?  We 
will  send  the  boys  to  the  fort  with  these  skins  and  they 


PHAEAOH  S    HARVEST  415 

shall  bring  up  enough  to  us  for  all  that  we  can  eat, 
and  all  that  we  can  sell  to  the  redskins  here." 

They  were  all  sitting  where  they  looked  upon  the 
black  ground,  which  was  not  even  stubble,  where  the 
fire  had  burned  so  savagely  all  Nathan  Coram's  stand 
ing  corn.  Not  a  straw  was  left  of  the  yellow  acres 
which  had  been  so  promising  to  his  eye  only  eight  days 
before.  This  was  the  field  which,  in  his  wife's  simple 
husbandry,  was  to  be  covered  with  buckwheat  before 
the  summer  was  over.  "  And  then,  father,"  said  Pa 
tience,  "it  will  be  time  to  put  in  our  winter  wheat." 
And  the  sad  man  answered  his  daughter  without  any 
smile  this  time.  "  Neither  love  nor  money  will  buy 
wheat  for  the  planting  at  any  of  the  forts.  None  of 
them  had  our  luck ;  there  was  a  blast  here  and  a  blight 
there,  and  if  our  new  mill  cannot  grind  oats,  and  these 
hard  Indian-corns,  I  might  as  well  have  built  them  a 
pigeon-coop  as  a  windmill." 

"  But,  father  dear,"  pleaded  Patience,  "  thee  does  not 
remember  anything.  Thee  thinks  that  all  is  gone  when 
all  is  not  gone.  Come  up  with  me  and  see  how  thy 
little  apple-trees  have  been  growing,  and  see  what  is 
growing  all  around  them  and  almost  hiding  them." 
So  she  led  the  way  to  the  upper  garden,  and  there,  sure 
enough,  screened  from  the  cinders  bv  a  stretch  of  the 

O      "  •> 

maple  forest,  was  the  gorgeous  yellow  of  "  Pharaoh's" 
harvest,  just  ready  for  the  reaping.  "  If  thou  art  as 
wise,  dear  father,  as  I  think,  we  will  not  cry  over 
spilled  milk  any  longer,  but  we  will  all  take  our  sickles 
and  attack  Pharaoh  on  four  sides.  And  this  year  he 
shall  be  threshed  and  winnowed  as  men  thresh  wheat, 
and  not  as  women  do  in  their  farming.  See  if  there 


416 

is  not  seed-corn  for  another  summer,  and  tell  me  if,  at 
the  mill,  anybody  brings  in  better  wheat  than  the  mill 
er's  daughter?1' 

And  her  father  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
And,  after  the  harvest  of  the  next  summer,  when  there 
had  been  no  freshet  and  no  fire,  and  no  mildew  and  no 
weevil,  when  Nathan  Coram's  crops  of  oats  and  barley 
were  such  as  he  had  never  dreamed  of  in  Kent,  when 
his  great  bins  of  Indian-corn  were  so  big  that  he  did 
not  know  how  it  was  to  be  husked  or  to  be  shelled, 
first  of  all  he  and  Lawrence  and  Martin  threshed  out 
the  English  wheat,  which  had  grown  as  never  English 
wheat  did  before.  And  they  tied  it  in  great  bags  and 
stacked  it,  and  Nathan  Coram  said  to  Lawrence :  "  We 
will  not  eat  a  kernel  of  it,  Lawrence.  But  when  the 
new  house  is  finished  and  the  wedding-day  comes,  the 
boys  shall  carry  it  over  there  and  Patience's  wheat 
shall  be  Patience's  dowry." 

And  it  was  all  so.  And  if  any  one,  stumbling  over 
the  old  accounts  of  Governor  Haynes  or  of  Mr.  Pyn- 
chon,  finds  the  credit  or  the  debit  for  so  many  pecks  or 
so  many  bushels  of  "Pharaoh,"  it  is  because  these  old 
settlers,  for  their  planting,  bought  Lawrence  Skeat's 
best  winter  wheat,  the  best  which  was  ever  yet  seen 
on  the  river. 


THE    END 


NOV 


192* 


LOAN 

MAR  li  1966 


, 


;  23 
PC.  211 


340396 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


